


Ship Leave

by KiaraSayre



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Holidays, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after embarking on her maiden voyage, the Enterprise returns to Earth for some holiday-season shore leave after a typical mission-gone-wrong.  Then things go wronger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bones looks surprisingly apprehensive about leaving the Enterprise for somebody with aviophobia. "A skeleton crew's never enough, for this ship," he says sourly, even as Jim guides him towards the shuttle bay. "Just wait, somebody's going to fall and die and I'm not gonna be around to patch it up - "

"You've done enough patching," says Jim firmly. Another crewman, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, nearly runs into him, in her rush to get off the ship – she pulls back just barely in time, even managing a half-hearted salute and a murmured, "Sir," but the surprise still makes Jim stand up a bit straighter and the damage is done. It takes all his willpower not to put a hand to the still-tender line across his stomach, but he manages to keep his expression relatively clear, just a slight thinning of his lips. Bones catches it anyway.

"If you rip yourself open again - " he begins to threaten.

"I'm not going to rip myself open," says Jim, "for Christ's sake. And your shuttle's not going to fall out of the air – no more than it's designed to, anyway – and your daughter is definitely going to recognize you. Now get your ass off my ship and on the ground before I have to make it an order."

Bones gives him a look like he's just sucked on a lemon. "I can override you."

"When we're talking about medical reasoning, sure," Jim agrees. "When we're talking about you being a mother hen - "

Bones throws up his arms. "Fine, fine, I know a lost cause when I see one. If you're so damn determined to get yourself killed ignoring my sound medical advice - "

"Now you really do sound like my mother," says Jim, grimacing. He stops, and Bones with him, by the door to Shuttle Four. "Have a great shore leave, and give Joanna my love."

Bones takes the offered hand, albeit grudgingly. "You're still more than welcome to join me," he says. "You know how much Jo loves you, God knows why."

"I'll see her at the party," Jim reminds him, and Bones makes a face showing exactly how much he's looking forward to that particular social event.

"Goddamn waste of – yeah, I guess." Bones gives his hand one last squeeze, before hoisting his own bag up. "See you in a week, then."

Jim tosses off the sloppiest salute he can manage while still leaving it recognizable, and grins when Bones rolls his eyes. Then Bones is turning around, in the shuttle – gone.

Jim does his best not to sigh in – relief, maybe, at constantly having this latest wound rubbed raw (metaphorically speaking), or possibly melancholy at seeing his best friend go.

Well, one of his best friends. He checks his chrono, and turns to head back to the bridge.

"Jim!" He turns right back around again at the shout, careful not to twist. Bones is sticking his head out of the shuttle. "At least _try_ to take care of yourself!"

Jim manages a twist of his lips that probably looks like a smile, from this distance, and waves back, pointedly. Bones looks dissatisfied, but disappears again, and this time Jim does put a hand to his stomach.

It stays there, hovering protectively, as he walks through the half-lit corridors of the ship. December, unsurprisingly, is a particularly requested time for shoreleave, and since the Enterprise's latest mission was disastrous in a way that for once did _not_ involve actual damage to the ship, the orders came down to maintain orbit, to save the more sought-after gates at the spacedock. Jim doesn't mind – the power output is minimal, and since the ship was just retrofitted and inspected five months ago, it makes sense to leave the more valued space for the ships that need it.

And besides, it makes avoiding the brass that much easier.

He pauses outside of Stellar Cartography, accessing one of the comm-panels to check who's left. Sulu's already gone, having shipped out on the first shuttle to San Francisco; Scotty left earlier this morning, bound for Scotland via the Cardiff shuttleport. Uhura and Spock are still listed as on-board, just as Jim suspected they would be, although they're scheduled for the shuttle to the Cairo hub in half an hour.

"Computer," says Jim, "locate Commander Spock."

The computer chimes. "Commander Spock is on the bridge."

"Yeah, thought so. Thanks, Computer."

The computer gives a more confused chime this time, but Jim ignores it and heads towards the bridge.

Spock is at the Science Officer's station, at least, and not in what Jim jealously thinks of as _his_ chair. He's got his comm badge on, though, and is speaking into it as Jim approaches him from behind.

" - top priority. Without replicators, the Winter Reception will be much more difficult to – Captain." Spock breaks off abruptly and nods at Jim.

"Spock," says Jim. He inclines his head pointedly at the comm badge, and Spock gets the message.

"We will continue this conversation later, Lieutenant," he says into it, before turning it off. "Captain?"

"Spock," Jim repeats. "Still working?"

"There is much to be done," Spock says. "There have been several anomalies reported in the replication system, and as the Enterprise has been selected to host the Starfleet Winter Reception this year, even a minor malfunction could prove severely problematic."

"And yet I have this strange recollection of a particular bit of paperwork darkening my desk," says Jim. "I think it said – no, I'm actually pretty sure – 'request for shore leave.' And I do believe I granted it. To you."

Spock's expression stays carefully measured. "I thought it might be more prudent for me to stay. Given your convalescence."

Jim narrows his eyes. "I think I can push papers just fine with a stab wound, _Commander_." He's aware of a sudden silence in the room, a shift of attention of every ensign at a station from what they should actually be paying attention to, to this vastly more interesting conversation.

Spock, having never been one to hold back his opinion just because of an audience, raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is not only your physical well-being I am worried for."

Jim can feel a muscle working in his jaw as he considers the situation and weighs the advantages of bitching Spock out against the disadvantages, which honestly aren't coming to mind. "If you think I'm not fit for duty," he says tightly, "then by all means tell Starfleet Command and let them decide."

"You misunderstand me," says Spock. "My concerns are not as your First Officer, but as your friend."

That deflates Jim pretty well. "Admit it," he says, much more lightly, "you just want to get out of meeting Uhura's family."

The general feel of the room's interest immediately changes from concern to hunger. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim can see Chekov, one of the ship's most notorious gossips, give up on pretense and turn to listen better.

Spock's nostrils flare, a blaring sign of disapproval – from him, anyway – but he seems to recognize the tonal shift as the peace offering it is. "I have to admit, the stories I've heard of her sisters make them seem...formidable."

 _Intimidating,_ thinks Jim. _Ha._ "Then shouldn't you use this time to prepare yourself?"

"Quite possibly." Spock stands, and takes off his comm badge, carefully placing it at his station. "Permission to disembark?"

"Granted," says Jim, half-smiling crookedly. "Have fun, and tell Lieutenant Uhura's sisters that her ruggedly handsome, dashingly brave, and very available superior says hello."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I," he says, "am off-duty. You can forward whatever messages you wish – yourself." He gets an ever-so-slightly pained expression on his face, and adds, "I hope you will at least try to keep the ship in one piece, in my absence."

Two years of captaincy have been more than enough to teach Jim to never ask certain rhetorical questions, tempting though they may be, so the phrases "what could possibly go wrong?" and "what's the worst that could happen?" don't pass his lips. Instead he says, "Well, no promises, but I'll do my best to make sure that our stable orbit around a known, friendly planet doesn't go horribly wrong."

Chekov turns back to his station, and mutters something in Russian beneath his breath. Judging by the tone, it probably translates to, "We're doomed."

"Very well," says Spock, clearly thinking along the same lines as Chekov. "Our return shuttle is scheduled for a week from today. If any complications arise..."

"Sorry, Spock," says Jim. "You're stuck with the sisters for your whole stay. Anything comes up, we'll call Starfleet Command."

Spock nods his assent, and, with only one hesitant backwards glance, leaves the bridge. Jim _does_ sigh this time, and settles himself in the captain's chair. "Chekov," he says. "When do the last shuttles of off-duty personnel leave?"

"The Cairo shuttle is the last, sir," says Chekov.

Jim peers at the back of his head, thinking back to the leave-requests. "You're not going downside?" he asks.

"No, sir," says Chekov. "My parents relocated to Gliesse during my sophomore year at the Academy."

"No cousins? Aunts, or uncles?"

Chekov looks displeased. "Many, sir. None within ten years of my age, in either direction. I would rather stay up here. Is quieter. And warmer," he adds, before hesitating. "What about you, sir? You're not taking any leave?"

Jim shrugs. "No. My brother and his wife emigrated years ago, and my mother should be halfway across the galaxy right about now. She's Starfleet, too." He lets out a breath. "Our leaves don't coincide, much."

"Ah," says Chekov, before falling silent.

Jim looks around the rest of the bridge. Half of the stations are empty; most of the ones that aren't have been repurposed for party planning. Chekov gets to play science officer, communications officer, navigator, and pilot today, it seems, although at least he's been spared the debate on what constitutes "festive" colors for bunting versus "fraught with religious implications" colors.

Jim kicks his heels up, wistfully wishing for a footrest or ottoman, and threads his fingers behind his head, careful not to stretch his torso too much. The painkillers he's been on since the latest mission reassert themselves, forcefully, and he yawns.

"Any orders, sir?" asks Chekov.

"Nah," says Jim. "Just keep the orbit stable. Maybe play a game of solitaire. I myself can see a nap on my horizon."

Chekov grins at him. "Understood, sir. Yes, sir."

Jim didn't actually intend to make good on the napping threat, but he wakes up some time – his chrono says an hour and a half – later, having drooled on his own shoulder. He feels muzzy-headed and sleepier than he had been upon falling asleep, and scrubs his face with his hand.

The lights on the bridge have been dimmed to half-power, and Chekov's the only one still working. Well, 'working' – from the illumination from his console, Jim can tell he's playing some kind of card game.

"Solitaire, Ensign?" he asks, his voice raspy with sleep.

Chekov jumps a bit, but answers. "Poker, sir."

"Well, then. Carry on." Jim stands up carefully, slowly unhunching himself. "I'll be in my quarters if anything comes up."

"Understood, sir."

Jim hesitates at the door to his quarters, but opens the door anyway. It's exactly as he left it – eight days? - ago, before the mission to Jallidar IV, his dress uniform laid out carelessly over one chairback in anticipation of the diplomatic reception that never happened.

He checks the timeline in his mind, just to make sure, but it fits: three days in captivity, three more out of commission, and another two confined to sickbay for observation – and only Bones's absence keeping him out of there, now.

Just three days. It felt longer.

The dull ache left over from surgery reminds him that it's time to take another painkiller, and he does so before crawling into bed, mindful of his scar and other assorted fading bruises.

This time Jim feels much more refreshed when he wakes up, and a glance at the time shows him why – he's been sleeping for eight hours. It's officially the next day.

He pulls himself out of bed and, on a hunch, checks the list of the skeleton crew. Christine Chapel's name is on it, listed as Acting Head of Sickbay, and Jim debates whether to put her on his list of People To Avoid or People To Just Get It Over With And Find. He compares what he knows about Nurse Chapel to how much his scar itches, and puts her on the latter, though he takes the time to at least shower and shave, first.

The first person he sees in Sickbay when he walks in half an hour later is actually not Nurse Chapel, but Lieutenant Gaila, sitting cross-legged in front of one of the cabinets and surrounded by equipment, a PADD leaning carelessly against her knee.

"Gaila!" says Jim, grinning at her. "You didn't request leave?"

Gaila twists herself around to match Jim's grin with a blinding one of her own. "Captain! No, I've already seen Earth - I thought I'd save my leave for something that's actually exciting."

Jim puts a hand above his heart. "I'm wounded," he says. "Still – inventory?"

"It's due by the end of January, but I thought I'd get a head start on it while we weren't in the middle of a crisis," says Gaila. Jim nods – Gaila's the most senior engineer assigned to Sickbay, to keep all the various medical equipment functioning in top-form. If she wants to work overtime, Jim of all people – a frequent patient – is not going to complain.

That doesn't mean he can keep an inviting smirk off his face. "And here I thought you just wanted to play doctors and nurses."

She smiles back at him, sweetly. "We're not cadets any more, _Captain_. I'm saving up all my leave for somewhere that I don't have to worry about the chain of command."

Jim barely bites his tongue in time to stop himself from making a joke about chains of an entirely different sort.

"What about you?" she asks. "You getting any?"

Really, Jim reflects, that's what he loves about Gaila – her frankness.

He points to his stomach. "No vigorous activity for a while," he says. "Doctor's orders."

"Oh, there's plenty of ways to get around that," says Gaila matter-of-factly. "As long as she doesn't mind giving you a free ride." She smiles again, impishly. "So to speak."

God, her dimples are gorgeous. Jim returns his attention to the conversation, and shrugs. "Like you said – chain of command. It complicates things."

Gaila nods, her red curls tumbling around her face. "We should make our leaves line up sometime, then. Blow off some steam."

"Have I mentioned I love the way you think?" asks Jim.

"Frequently, and often in the throes of passion," Gaila says matter-of-factly. "Now are you going to let me get back to work, or keep distracting me with sex talk?"

"Right," says Jim, snapping back into Captain-mode. "Have you seen Nurse Chapel? I think I owe her an appointment."

"She should be back any minute now," says Gaila. Jim carefully levers himself onto one of the beds, and Gaila keeps talking over her shoulder, inventorying as she does. "I hear Nyota took Spock to meet her family."

Jim snorts, then grimaces – bad idea. "Yeah. I've heard stories about her sisters, too – they're downright legendary." He frowns. "Hey, did you ever meet them?"

"Oh, yes," says Gaila, holding up a distinctly gynecological instrument to inspect it for wear and tear. "The stories are all true. Of course, they think I'm a horrible influence on her – that's why I didn't go back to visit, too." It's her turn to laugh. "I wish I could see the look on her mother's face when she finds out about pon farr."

Nurse Chapel arrives soon after that, although she looks surprised to see Jim in sickbay of his own volition.

"Captain!" she says. "Doctor McCoy gave me the impression I'd have to hunt you down and sedate you to get you back in here."

Jim shrugs. "I thought I'd save you the sedative."

"I appreciate the effort," says Nurse Chapel. "Lie down, if you would."

Jim sits through – well, lies through – the examination with nary a complaint. Nurse Chapel is nothing if not brisk and efficient, and considerably less prone to cursing than Bones, and eventually she pats him on the shoulder.

"You're healing nicely," she tells him. "Sleeping a lot?"

"Enough," hedges Jim.

"Good," says Chapel. "In this case, there's no such thing as too much, understood? You got sliced open – your body's expending a lot of energy to knit you back up again."

"So doctor's orders are to be as lazy as possible?" asks Jim.

"If you want me to put it in writing, then so be it," says Chapel primly. "In the meantime – I...read the mission reports filed for the latest mission, and if you feel the need to speak to a Starfleet counselor, I can make it happen. Sir."

Jim stares at her, his mouth suddenly dry. "I haven't written any mission report yet," he says.

"No, sir, but everyone else involved didn't spend five days in the infirmary," says Chapel. "The offer stands, for – for as long as you'd like. It _is_ procedure, sir."

"It's also voluntary, if I recall correctly."

"You do, sir." Jim can see Gaila watching the conversation with unashamed curiosity, out of the corner of his eye. Chapel's sudden use of 'sir' hasn't gotten past him, either. "But it's procedure to offer."

"Well, you can mark it off your checklist, then," says Jim, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "I decline. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get some actual work done."

He ends up back in the captain's chair, looking at his PADD. There are all sorts of arrangements for the Winter Reception to be approved, but the idea of actually reading through report upon report of the endless bunting-color debates is daunting at best. Chekov is at the conn, at least, once again playing poker against the computer; Jim checks on a whim to see if he's playing the network-wide game. He is, and Jim smiles as he hacks the system just enough to hide that he isn't a computer-generated opponent.

The best part is that he can watch Chekov's frustration grow from behind him, to say nothing of all the tiny little tells that Chekov isn't bothering to hide since the computer can't see them. It's possibly cruel, but Jim prefers to think of it as a test of Chekov's situational awareness, and begins timing how long this can go on.

They're bother interrupted in their game by the computer chiming.

"Uh," says Chekov, frantically switching away from the game, "sir, we...apparently have a request to come aboard."

Jim frowns, and puts aside the PADD. "From who? And why?"

Chekov checks the request, frowning. "Encryption is Class One, sir – an Admiral. Reason is listed as a tour of the ship."

Jim rolls his eyes. "What the hell are we, here, a pleasure-cruise? Don't answer that. Permission granted." He stands up, groaning. "Send the message to all decks to make everything as pretty as possible – we've got tourists."

Only bunting as an alternative could make Jim willingly present himself to the Starfleet admiralty, but as bunting _is_ the alternative, Jim heads down to the shuttle bay to greet the guests, leaving the conn with Lieutenant Otero; Chekov, apparently bored with being beaten, follows him to the bay.

"You don't think this is a surprise inspection, sir?" he asks. "I believe Mister Scott has been making some adjustments that could be - "

"If it were a surprise inspection, we wouldn't know about it until it was already over," says Jim. "And besides, Scotty's 'adjustments' have all gone through me."

Chekov raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Really, sir?"

"If anyone asks, yes." They arrive at the shuttle bay, but the admittance light is red, signifying vacuum; a few minutes later, as the bay repressurizes, it changes to green, and the door opens.

Jim leads, and Chekov follows him in, straightening his uniform as he does. The shuttle is from the spacedock, giving no clues to which admiral it contains. Just in case, Jim waits with his hands clasped behind his bag, his feet together – a pose that should be just formal enough for one of the tightasses, but casual enough for one of the very few admirals without an active grudge against him.

The shuttle's ramp slowly lowers, and Admiral Pike floats out, still in his hoverchair. There's an assistant with him, trailing closely behind, but Pike is smiling.

"Captain Kirk," he says, taking in Jim's pose. "At ease, if that's what that's supposed to be. I thought I might come take a look at the old girl, see how she's doing."

"Admiral Pike," says Jim, returning the smile and moving forward to shake his hand. "You're always welcome on this ship, you know that."

"Good," says Pike, keeping his grip on Jim's hand. "Because I brought a personal guest."

"I suppose that's my cue," says another voice from the shuttle – warm, dry, and distinctly female. A woman steps out onto the ramp, wearing civilian clothes and a grin that threatens to burst off her face. "Hello, Jim."

Jim just stares. His mother always did know how to make an entrance.

Winona Kirk comes to stand next to Pike, putting her hands on Jim's shoulders – his hand slips from Pike's numbly as she takes him in. "God, let me look at you. How long has it been?"

"A...while, I guess," says Jim, once he's able to talk again. "What are you doing here? I thought you were out at Chiron Beta Prime - "

"I requested leave for the holidays as soon as I heard you were going to be back planetside," says Winona.

"How?" asks Jim. " _We_ didn't know until a few weeks ago – there wasn't enough time - "

"I had an inside source," Winona admits, turning her smile on Pike, who nods graciously.

Chekov shifts uncomfortably behind Jim, and he's brought back to himself. He clears his throat. "Ensign Chekov, you already know Admiral Pike," he says, and Chekov stands at attention for him. "I'd like to introduce you to my mother, Commander Winona Kirk, Science Officer aboard the Eddington." He glances at her. "Or so I thought."

Winona frowns. "I'd hoped for a warmer introduction."

"I would've hoped for some warning," says Jim, without thinking. "Like, any."

Winona stiffens. "If this is a problem - "

"No – it's – no problem," says Jim, backpedaling. "It's just – currently my entire senior staff with the exception of myself and Ensign Chekov here are Earthside, and we weren't exactly planning on taking visitors. The guest quarters - "

"Jim," says Winona, "I came God-knows-how-many lightyears to see you and your ship. I don't care about guest quarters or party planning - I care about _you_. If you need to stick us in the engine room with sleeping bags, then so be it."

"I would highly discourage it, sir," says Pike's aide quickly, and Pike hides a smile behind one hand.

"I'd certainly like a tour, though. The way Christopher's been talking about this ship," adds Winona, "I half-expect to see the Fountain of Youth installed next to the warp drive, tended to by the Virgin Mary and a sentient rainbow."

That, at least, gets a smile out of Jim. "Scotty can make some miracles, all right, but I don't think a sentient spectrum is one of them."

"At least, not one that could pass the Turing test," mutters Chekov, under his breath. "A unicorn, perhaps, if it was cybernetic and powered by warp."

Winona began her career in Stellar Cartography, so Jim makes the observation deck the first stop. It turns out to be a good choice, since Earth's moon is just floating into view, scarcely bigger than it would be on Earth. The sight is breathtaking, even for Jim – maybe especially for Jim, since his mother's been doing this literally since before he was born.

He feels something in him relax as he gazes out the window, his eyes tracing the thick band of the Milky Way.

"It never gets old," says Winona, quietly.

"The day it does is the day I retire," says Pike in return. "It's good to know that day's not here yet."

Jim thinks of all the other admirals, and their opinions of him. "I hope it never comes, sir," he says fervently.

Pike glances at him, and Jim can tell he knows his reasoning. "Your concern is touching," Pike murmurs.

Jim gives him a shit-eating grin in return.

He takes them to Stellar Cartography next, not even bothering to pretend this little tour is for Pike – Pike commanded the damn ship, after all, however briefly. Winona is appropriately impressed with the level of tech, and Jim can't help feeling like he's five years old again and bringing back the latest crafts from kindergarten - _Look, look what I did, Mom!_ On the whole, Jim supposes it's better than his inner moody teenager, who would no doubt try to drive the Enterprise off a cliff, if there existed one large enough.

Chekov and Pike's aide trail behind them, chatting about whatever it is subordinates chat about, as Jim takes his mother and superior officer through the ship. He doesn't realize his mistake until they're already approaching sickbay, and there's no way to avoid it.

"Ah, yes, the illustrious sickbay," sighs Pike as they pass it. "Somehow it doesn't surprise me that you were smuggled onto the ship through it – you certainly spend enough time there now."

"Yes, I heard you were injured on your latest mission," says Winona, taking her cue. "I take it there's a story there?"

This, at least, Jim is expecting. The question takes him wrong-footed somehow anyway. "Most of my missions end that way," he says, avoiding the question. "I prefer to think of it as my command style. Hands-on."

"Clearly some things never change," murmurs Winona.

Pike's frowning. "How long were you in sickbay? Commander Spock's report implied it would be a while."

"Nurse Chapel cleared me already," says Jim defensively.

"And Doctor McCoy?" asks Pike. "Isn't he still your Chief of Medicine? I like his style."

"You mean, his tendency to sedate me at the drop of a hat?" asks Jim.

"I can't count the times I wished I'd adopted that as my childcare policy," says Winona. Behind her, Chekov chokes back a laugh. As it would be too obvious to turn around and glare at him outright, Jim glares at the wall until he's satisfied that the gist of it will somehow be passed along to Chekov.

"Doctor McCoy is my Chief of Medicine," he agrees begrudgingly. "He's also got a nine-year-old daughter on the planet – he was one of the first crewmembers to request leave, and of everyone, he's earned it."

"Especially recently, I'd been given to understand," says Pike. "How many hours were you in surgery, after the Jallidar mission?"

Jim grits his teeth. "Honestly, I don't know. I was anesthetized at the time."

"Surgery?" Winona raises an eyebrow.

"It was _supposed_ to be a courier mission," says Pike. "Not even diplomatic – not really, just a semi-formal reception." He looks pointedly at Jim, and waves his hand as though bequeathing the rest of the story to him.

Jim reminds himself that cursing out a superior would probably be a bad career move, and he keeps his eyes away from Pike or his mother as he speaks. "It turns out that Jallidarians have – well, had – a small but, uh, _enthusiastic_ isolationist faction. Militant isolationist faction, I should say. They got the drop on us right after we'd delivered the paperwork – me, Bones, and Spock. The rest of the away team got away, at least." He clears his throat to cover his hesitancy – he's still not entirely sure how far he's going to go with this story. "They had us for three days, before Sulu and everyone else managed to track us down and extract us, but the extraction was – messy. I got a little stabbed." There – everything he said, completely true. Honest? No. But true, at least, and peripheral details shouldn't matter too much.

He glances at Pike. Spock's report, no doubt, was perfectly clear and precise, without a minute unaccounted for. But Pike says nothing about Jim's omissions, just purses his lips thoughtfully, and Jim decides it's time to change the subject.

"Here's the hydroponics lab - "

They don't linger too long, there – the lab is full of technicians, some sent from the spacedock to help prepare the massive quantities of fresh fruits and vegetables for the Winter Reception, all of whom look overworked and underpaid.

The bridge ends up being the last stop, and Jim, in an unusual display of tact, manages to make their destination perfectly clear in advance, in case former-Captain Pike should want to avoid it. Pike makes no move to do so, however, and they all pack into the turbolift together.

Lieutenant Otero stands at attention when they enter, but stops short of a salute – until she sees Admiral Pike.

"Sir," she says, before the corner of her mouth twitches anxiously. "Sirs," she corrects herself.

"At ease, Ensign," say Jim, Winona, and Pike simultaneously. Winona and Pike smile at each other, while Jim resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

He considers pointing out the areas of interest on the bridge - _that's where my First Officer tried to strangle me, and that's where he knocked me out before having me thrown overboard, and that's the panel that exploded when we got into that scuffle with the Klingons six months back, here, let me show you the scar..._

Upon reflection, he decides that's probably a bad idea. Not only because Chekov's half-finished game of poker is still visible on the console.

"Welcome to the bridge," he says eventually. "It's...the bridge. Like most other bridges, I guess, except better."

"Is this the Science Officer's station?" asks Winona, from Spock's usual chair. "May I?"

"Why not?" Jim shrugs, and Winona sits in Spock's chair, looking over the consoles and the tech.

"Nicer than the Eddington's," she mutters.

"Newer than the Eddington's," Pike points out. "Enterprise was just brand-new when she was taken out on her maiden journey two years ago – almost exactly two years ago, isn't that right?"

"Two years come February," Jim agrees. "But some Starfleet offices list the official maiden voyage as March – the first voyage it wasn't staffed by trainees."

"No, just fresh-faced recent graduates," says Pike's assistant enviously. Jim looks at her, and she smiles sadly. "I was a year too late. I tried to petition for an assignment on the grounds of academic qualification, but there wasn't enough time before the fleet left - I had to wait and graduate with my class anyway."

Jim, who graduated from Starfleet Academy in three years, decides that in this case the best thing to say is nothing.

"Are these planetary atmospheric spectrometers?" asks Winona, still prodding around Spock's station. "They come standard now?" She shakes her head disgustedly. "I have _got_ to requisition a retrofit."

"How do you determine if a planet is habitable, if not through spectroscopy?" asks Lieutenant Otero from her station, frowning.

Winona and Pike both look over at her with identically-raised eyebrows. "Back in my day," says Pike, "we went and _looked_."

"Asking politely usually works," Winona adds.

Lieutenant Otero looks surprised, but wisely chooses to keep her criticisms of such barbaric practices to herself.

Winona stands up again. "Well, this has been most educational. And jealousy-inducing." She smiles at Jim. "I don't suppose we could see your quarters?"

The five-year-old in Jim, who never quite went away, freezes in terror at the unanticipated room-inspection. The rest of him does the same.

Winona laughs. "Sorry, I just wanted to see the look on your face." She crosses back over to Jim and lays a hand on his cheek. "I'm perfectly certain your room is clean."

Thank _God_ Spock isn't here. He'd never hear the end of it.

"That was needlessly cruel," says Pike, although he's also clearly stifling a smile. So is Chekov, now that Jim's looking. Damn, this might get back to Spock after all. Pike's aide is studiously blank-faced, though, and very pretty now that Jim notices.

"Sorry," he says to her. "I didn't catch your name - " he looks at her insignia, and adds, "Ensign...?"

"Ensign Rao, sir," she says, still poker-faced. Jim wonders if he can get her in on his and Chekov's game.

"If you try to steal one of my hand-picked personnel," says Pike casually, "I'll bust you down to Ensign before you can blink."

"I thought the Admiralty was supposed to be above such base threats," says Winona.

"'The Admiralty' is made up of men who are nothing if not flawed," says Pike.

"Well, clearly at least some of them have taste, if they made Jim a captain," says Winona. Jim stares at her.

"You know, most of the time when that gets brought up, it's a point in favor of the flaws," Pike points out idly. "Although I have to admit, the Enterprise's record this past two years is rather astounding, if only in repair bills."

Jim gets a hold of himself, and clears his throat. "Starfleet ships aren't meant to stay in mint-condition," he says. "If they're not getting dirty, they're not doing _anything_ , and I'm pretty sure that's not what we get paid to do."

"Or not do," says Rao quietly.

"Ah, Captain," says Chekov quietly. "Would you like me to call ahead to the officer's mess for them to prepare dinner?"

Jim checks his chrono, surprised, but it is indeed that time. "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Ensign."

Chekov smiles rather smugly at Rao, and rushes off to contact the officer's mess. Jim frowns after him, but if the past two years have taught him anything – well, other than to not antagonize irritable Klingons – it's to not try to figure out what the hell his crew's doing.

"Ah, ship food," says Pike wistfully. "I have to admit, of all the things I thought I'd miss when I got promoted, ship food wasn't one of them."

"You _do_ miss it?" asks Winona, surprised.

"Sometimes," admits Pike. "There's something very freeing about knowing that no matter what you order, it's all going to taste the same."

Jim smirks. Pike has a point.

"What's the Eddington been up to these days?" Jim asks Winona, as they begin the slow walk to the officer's mess.

Winona shrugs. "We're mostly a survey ship, as I'm sure you know. We spent a few months parked by a variable star that was being, shall we say, excessively variable - "

"Variable stars are predictable, though," Rao puts in. "I mean, they're supposed to be, anyway – aren't they a standard candle?"

"Not this one," says Winona. "That's why we were studying it. We got it figured out eventually, of course – it was just a unique property of its hydrogen shells. One of my lieutenants got a very nice paper out of it."

"Good," says Rao, sounding jealous.

"Definitely," agrees Winona. "Can you imagine the uproar if Cepheids were disproved as a standard candle?"

"I shudder to think," says Rao. "We wouldn't be able to trust any distance estimates outside the galaxy."

Jim leans closer to Pike. "And you've got her playing desk-jockey?" he asks quietly.

"We can't pick our first assignments, Captain," says Pike mildly, before glancing back at him. "Well, most of us can't, anyway."

Jim staunchly refuses to be ashamed of his initiative.

Chekov is waiting in the officer's mess, which is surprisingly empty – the crew may be skeleton, but there's no way they aren't hungry. Jim frowns at him, and Chekov just smiles disarmingly at him, then gives Rao a look that clearly says: _Bring it._

Jim glances over at Rao, who's glaring poisonously back at Chekov. There's a brief scramble at the table – there isn't a space for Pike's hoverchair, and Rao and Chekov both try to get Pike to sit at the spot _they_ cleared. The tussle attracts Winona's attention as well as Pike's, and Jim narrows his eyes at both subordinates.

"Chekov," he says, and pulls the Ensign aside. "What the hell's going on?"

Chekov glances over at Rao, but just for a second. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Don't try that I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about bullshit on me," says Jim. "I practically invented it."

"Ensign Rao took Commander Kirk's suggestion of sleeping arrangements more seriously than anticipated, sir," says Chekov, staring carefully ahead. "She suggested that the Enterprise would not be a suitable place for the Admiral to stay."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "She insulted the Enterprise."

Chekov hesitates. "Not...quite so bad as that, sir. But she _implied_ it!"

"Right," says Jim. "In that case..." He grins. "Carry on, Ensign."

Chekov smiles, fiercely competitive, just for a second. "Aye, sir."

Jim goes back to the table, where Winona and Pike are already seated, and sits. Chekov hovers just behind him, standing at attention.

"May I get your meals, sirs? Ma'am?" he says formally.

Pike raises his eyebrows, and glances at Jim, who just shrugs. "Ah..." he says. "Surprise me."

"Me too," says Winona, frowning slightly. Chekov nods, and heads over to the replicator, Rao close on his tail.

"Do I want to know?" asks Pike, eyebrows still raised.

"I believe," says Jim, "that my Ensign and your Ensign are trying to out-useful each other. And my Ensign is very competitive."

Pike grins. "Ah. Well, then."

A vaguely uncomfortable silence falls. Sitting down, Jim is beginning to realize, was a mistake; his last painkillers were hours ago, and the dull ache in his abdomen is reasserting himself. He's losing his forward momentum, and a Jim Kirk at rest tends to stay at rest...

He breaks the silence after about a minute.

"So," he says. "I hadn't realized you two knew each other."

"We served on the Kelvin together," says Winona, idly inspecting the surface of the table.

"Your father and I worked together quite a bit," Pike adds. "And the Kelvin was not an excessively large ship – eight hundred people that you saw every day - "

"Especially given...what happened. We all sort of banded together, after that," says Winona. "United in the face of tragedy, and whatnot. Though I have to admit, Christopher wasn't one of my former shipmates who babysat you."

Jim glances at Pike, in a mixture of alarm and relief. "That's...good."

"Mm," says Winona, as Chekov returns with three trays of food. He sets one down in front of each of his superior officers, and stands at attention again.

"Chekov - " says Jim. "Aren't you going to eat with us?"

Chekov shakes his head. "The guest quarters are not prepared, sir," he says. "I thought I would take care of that."

Jim stares at him. "You do realize that food's not optional, Ensign."

"I know that, sir."

"Where's Ensign Rao?"

Chekov twitches, just a little. "In the guest quarters, sir."

Jim ducks his head a bit to hide his smile. "Right. Dismissed, Ensign."

Chekov stands at attention, briefly, before leaving.

"He's very..." says Winona, looking after Chekov.

"Young?" suggests Pike. "How old is he now, Captain? Twenty?"

"Nineteen, for another couple months," says Jim. All three dinners are identical – spaghetti with meat sauce, garlic bread, and a side salad with – Jim has no idea how Chekov managed _this_ \- lettuce that's actually crispy. Jim momentarily toys with the idea of reassigning Chekov to work on the replicators full-time. "He's also one of the damn smartest kids I've ever met. He's got transporting moving targets out of gravity wells down to an art, by now."

"I remember hearing he was the one who caught you and Sulu when you took that tumble off the Romulan drill," says Pike.

Jim nods. "We're lucky to have him," he says honestly.

"Didn't you give him a citation a few months ago? For brawling?" asks Pike.

"Well, yeah," Jim admits. "Klingons. It was on K7, right on the border – we had a little trouble with...well, it doesn't matter now. Chekov's a good kid, and loyal – one of the Klingons started badmouthing, the usual, and he took it a little too seriously."

"I think he rather imprinted on you, like a baby duck," says Pike. "You were his first commanding officer, after all."

"Technically, sir, I believe that would be you," Jim points out. "I was just...a close second."

"He was part of the original trainee crew?" asks Winona.

Jim nods. "Most of the crew is," he explains. "It worked just fine on the first mission, after all."

"Almost the entirety of the senior staff, too," Pike adds. "Something which the Admiralty has worried over endlessly, I might add."

"Good," says Jim. "That means we're doing our jobs."

"Who's your Science Officer?" asks Winona, curious.

"Commander Spock," says Jim. "He's also my First Officer. Lieutenant Uhura is Communications Officer, Ensign Chekov is the Navigator, Lieutenant Sulu the Helmsman – they're the senior bridge staff. Then Bones is in Sickbay, and Scotty in Engineering."

"Scotty as in Montgomery Scott?" asks Winona, eyes wide and amused.

"Well – yeah – how do you...?"

"Montgomery Scott as in Admiral Archer's beagle Montgomery Scott?" Winona repeats, now on the verge of laughter.

Jim breaks into a grin. "I didn't realize he had such a reputation."

"I didn't realize he'd finally gotten off Delta Vega," says Winona, shaking her head.

"That was just one of the many rabbits your son pulled out of his hat two years ago," says Pike. "Despite the fact that most of us at Starfleet weren't even aware there was going to be a magic show."

"About that," says Winona, focusing her attention on Jim again. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to your graduation, or your promotion ceremony. With the delays and lags, we didn't even hear about it until it was all over, and by then you'd shipped out again."

Jim shrugs, trying to keep the sudden, gnawing bitterness at bay. "It doesn't matter," he says. "I'm used to you not being there."

Winona sits back in her chair, stung. Even Pike looks surprised, and Jim belatedly bites his tongue. God, his stomach hurts again.

Winona is the first to recover, although she clearly is still feeling maternal. "How are you doing, here?" she asks. "Do you like the Enterprise?"

Jim pointedly does not think, _If you actually ever wrote me letters or tried in any way to communicate, you wouldn't have to ask._ Instead, he says, "Yeah. She's – she's a good ship. I couldn't ask for better."

Winona's eyes soften, and Pike relaxes again.

Jim even smirks a little bit – an odd sort of smirk, half-genuine. "It's weird," he admits. "Technically, I outrank you."

Winona returns it with a crooked smile of her own. "Oh, you've always thought you outranked us – all adults, really. It's just that now your internal worldview reflects reality – or rather, reality reflects your internal worldview. Greg could never get his head around that."

"Ah," says Jim, his smile twisting. "And how is – Greg?"

"I wouldn't know," says Winona coolly. "I haven't spoken to him since the divorce."

"Good," says Jim. "He was an ass."

"Is," says Winona. "He's not dead." She sighs. "Of course, he wasn't an ass, either, when I married him."

"I disagree," says Jim. "He just hid it better, when you were around."

"Maybe I should let you two - " begins Pike, just as Chekov enters again, Rao right behind him.

"Sir, sir, ma'am," he says breathlessly, "the guest rooms are prepared."

"Well," says Jim, standing up, "you two must be tired after such a long day - "

"I was hoping we could talk for a little bit," Winona tells him pointedly.

"I don't want to keep you from your beauty sleep - "

" _Jim_ ," says his mother.

Jim hesitates, then turns to Pike. "Admiral," he says. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning." He turns to Chekov. "Ensign, can you take Admiral - "

"Yes, sir," Chekov says instantly.

"I can do that, sir," says Rao.

"I know how to get there faster," says Chekov.

"I was paying attention when we came back," says Rao. "I know how to get there just fine."

"I took you the long way," says Chekov. "Ha!"

"Are you sure he's nineteen?" Winona murmurs to Pike, barely audible to Jim.

" _Cheater_ ," Rao shoots back venomously.

"And theoretically, Ensign Rao is twenty-three," Pike mutters back. "Competition seems to bring out their inner children."

"You can both take him back," says Jim tiredly. "Just as long as he makes it there."

Rao and Chekov continue arguing, and as the door to the officer's mess closes, their petty jibes echo down the hallway.

Leaving Jim alone with his mother.

Winona's still seated, so Jim sits across from her, warily.

"So," he says. "What do you want to talk about?"

Winona just looks at him for a long minute, before shaking her head as if to clear it. "Whatever you'd like. Tell me about your senior officers – your friends?"

Jim hesitates at this – it sounds so very playground-politics, when she puts it like that, then shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. Bones and I knew each other at the Academy. Spock and I met...also at the Academy, but under different circumstances." He hesitates. "Did you ever take the Kobayashi Maru?"

Winona frowns. "No, but your father did. Why?"

"I took it three times," says Jim. "And the third time, I won."

Her face clears. "Ah. Yes. I heard about that."

"I bet you did," says Jim. "Spock programmed it that year. Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura were all assigned to the Enterprise as trainees for the first mission, and then Scotty I met on Delta Vega – it's...kind of a long story."

"When Spock threw you off the ship for mutiny?"

Jim stares at her. "How did you - "

"I've been keeping tabs on you, obviously," says Winona. "You're my son, Jim. Of course I've been watching, reading the mission reports."

"You could've sent a letter," says Jim. "Or a vid, or – anything."

"You could have, too," says Winona, fiddling with her napkin. "I'm not – I'm not saying I haven't made mistakes."

"Bit of an understatement," mutter Jim, not meeting her eyes.

"I'm saying that I want to make up for it," continues Winona forcefully. "I'd hoped you could understand, now. Space is..." She waves a hand, as though trying to encompass the entire universe. "It's impossible to give up. You're Starfleet now – can't you understand?"

"Then why the hell did you have kids if you were just going to dump them on the nearest planet?" demands Jim. "What the hell was the point?"

"That was never the plan," says Winona sharply. "Your father and I – we were going to stay in Starfleet as long as we could, until you and Sam were too old to be allowed on the ships, and then get civilian work somewhere more stable – a space station, or civilian survey ship. But then George died, and it all just seemed impossible – do you know how many civilian jobs offer extended family healthcare, like Starfleet? Or provide childcare?" She shakes her head. "I did the best I could. It wasn't much, but – but _look_ at you, Jim!" Her eyes are teary, now, but glittering with pride as well. "I never dreamed - I always knew you could do anything you wanted if you just applied yourself - "

"Spare me the 'you have such potential' talk," says Jim, through gritted teeth. "I've heard it so many damn times, I can recite it from memory."

"That's surprising, since you never seemed to _listen_ ," snaps Winona, before taking a deep breath. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

Jim doesn't disagree, even though he knows he should. "So, what. Now that I'm a Starfleet captain you want to be a part of my life again, is that it?"

"I've always wanted to be a part of your life. You're just too good at pushing people away."

"I don't push people away!" protests Jim.

Winona raises an eyebrow at him. "When you were eleven, you had a sleepover every weekend and friends from school over every day. By the time you were twelve, your social life was nonexistent."

"That's because everybody thought I was the weird kid who drove his dad's car off a cliff."

"That might have something to do with how you _drove your father's car off a cliff_ ," says Winona. "Or did that never occur to you?"

"I didn't realize this was going to be an interrogation," says Jim tightly.

"I'm not trying to interrogate you, I'm trying to _talk_ to you," says Winona, exasperated. "You're not exactly the easiest person to – Hell, to be in the same room as! But I'm trying, here, because you're my son and I love you."

Jim doesn't say anything, just deliberately doesn't meet her eyes. There's another lengthy silence.

"If we're clearing the air," says Winona eventually, "then I should admit something. I had been planning to surprise you at the Winter Reception, not here, but then Christopher got the mission reports from Jallidar IV - "

Jim stiffens immediately, and the motion, though slight, makes his wound twinge painfully. "What the hell does this have to do with that?"

"From what he told me, 'messy extraction' is an understatement. I just want to – to talk to you, to make sure you're okay." She looks at him for a moment. "And you're not doing a very good job of pretending you're dealing with it."

"I'm fine," Jim bites out, standing up. "It's late."

Winona doesn't stand immediately, but keeps looking at Jim, her brow furrowed. She looks – well, 'concerned' doesn't cover half of it. Eventually she rises to her feet, and comes around the table – Jim doesn't see the hug coming, but she's got her arms around him before he can move away, and his habits from childhood override his habits from any Starfleet Advanced Combat training. He just stands there and lets himself be hugged.

"I'm very glad - " begins Winona, before hesitating. "I'm very glad you came back from Jallidar," she finishes, and steps away from him. "I'll find my own way back to the guest quarters," she tells him. "You should sleep. You look - " She stumbles over her word choice again. "You look beat."

She leaves before he can come up with an answer to that.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim stumbles back to his quarters, acutely aware of the ever-increasing time since his last painkiller. He's barely by his bed when his comm chimes, and he lets out a wordless noise of frustration before slapping it.

" _What_?"

"Uh. Chekov here, Captain," comes Chekov's tentative voice.

"Yes, what is it, Ensign?"

"You have a call, sir?" It comes out as a question, not a statement.

Jim frowns. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"Yes, sir," says Chekov, sounding relieved to finally have good news to deliver.

"Then why the hell are you on comms right now?"

"Ah," says Chekov, "Sara did not believe me when I told her about our mission to K7. So I thought I would show her the records, under Starfleet Regulation six point zero-zero-two, permitting non-secured information sharing for purposes of - "

"Chekov," says Jim.

"Captain?"

"Do you really think I care if you're showing a fellow Starfleet officer non-classified information about how you beat up a bunch of Klingons?"

"...no, sir?"

"Patch the call through to my quarters. Kirk out."

Bones's face appears on Jim's comm, and Jim suddenly regrets not having asked Chekov who it was first.

"Jim!" says Bones, looking actually somewhat happy to see him.

"Uncle Jim!" says a younger, sweeter voice, and the nine-year-old Joanna McCoy is hoisted onto Bones's lap.

"Jo wanted to say hi," says Bones.

Bullshit, Jim doesn't say, because he does have _some_ sense of restraint. Instead he pastes on a fake smile. "Hey, Jojo. How's school?"

Joanna wrinkles her nose. "Boring," she says. "They won't let me do geometry. They say it's too advanced."

"Joss's working on getting her into an advanced program," says Bones. "Don't know where the he – where she got the knack for math, since it certainly wasn't me."

"Dad can't even do _long division_ ," Joanna confides.

"Here, go help your mom clean up so we can start making dessert, I'll let you know when we're done so you can say bye," says Bones, and Joanna's face lights up again for the two seconds she remains on-screen. Bones looks after her, a warm glow to his face that isn't usually there. "Joss let me stay with them while I'm planetside," he adds. "I've never been so glad to cancel a hotel reservation. Turns out me and Joss get along a hell of a lot better when we're not in the same sector of the galaxy two out of three years." He turns back to the vidscreen, and his customary scowl returns. "Good God, man, what happened to you? Chapel told me you were doing better."

"I was," says Jim, grimacing. "I went too long between painkillers. I'll be fine." He immediately goes for a subject-change. "How's Jo doing? Other than being held back by school, obviously."

"You," growls Bones, "are entirely transparent sometimes, you know that? Try your tricks on someone else. What's going on? I thought you were going to be resting."

"So did I," says Jim darkly. "We've got surprise guests." He very briefly weighs the possibility of lying to Bones, but his mother shows no signs of leaving anytime before the Winter Reception, so it would be an exercise in futility. "Admiral Pike and my mom."

Bones's eyebrows fly halfway to his hairline. "Your mom? I thought she was across the galaxy."

"Funny story," says Jim, "so did I. Apparently she pulled some strings to get leave when she found out which ship was hosting this year's Winter Reception."

Bones makes a face at the mention of the event. "God, don't get me started on that dog-and-pony-show." His expression turns more serious. "How's that working out? Do you need reinforcements?"

"Bones," says Jim, equally seriously, "Chekov's handling – pretty much everything right now, actually. Do you think he'll hesitate for _one second_ if I order him not to let your ass on the ship for the next five days?"

Bones sighs. "No," he says, "you've got him wrapped around your damn pinky but good."

"Damn straight," says Jim.

"But if your mom's there," says Bones, "you should think about talking to her. Christine said you'd refused a counselor - "

"Do you really expect me to let a Starfleet-certified headshrinker poke around my brain?" asks Jim sharply. "Also, don't you all have anything better to talk about than _me_?"

"No," says Bones, "and right now you aren't letting anyone within ten feet of your brain. Not talking about it isn't dealing with it, Jim, it's _not_ dealing with it, and if you're not going to talk to me or Spock about, then you should still damn well talk to someone!"

"And what is it about my relationship with my mother that makes you think she'd be a prime candidate? Our lengthy and resounding silence over the past few years? The literal lightyears that've been between us since I was _five_? Just because she walks in here saying she wants to have an actual relationship doesn't mean I owe her anything." Jim sets his jaw, and waits for a response as Bones shakes his head slowly at the comm.

"I've got a radical suggestion," says Bones. "Maybe she actually _cares_."

"She didn't before. I don't see what's different now."

"Just because she couldn't be there doesn't mean she didn't care!"

"If she really cared she would've been there!" says Jim, louder and more forcefully than he'd intended. Bones looks as if he's been slapped in the face, and Jim abruptly comes to his senses. "Shit – Bones – "

"She cares, Jim, but God alone knows why – you can be a real ass sometimes," says Bones.

"Daddy! Everything's ready!"

Bones turns in the direction of Joanna's voice. "You want to come say bye to Uncle Jim first?" he calls.

There's the sound of distant footsteps drawing nearer, until the top of Joanna's head comes into view. Bones obligingly pulls her back up into his lap, and she waves ecstatically at the comm.

"Bye, Uncle Jim! See you at the Christmas party!"

Bones waves a bit too, albeit with an ironic twist to his mouth. "Remember what I said."

"The last part?" asks Jim, trying for a joke – it falls flat anyway.

"All of it," says Bones, reaching forward to turn off the comm. He stops his motion, adds, "But especially the last part," and then continues. The comm shuts off, the image blinking out.

Jim sags, letting his head fall into his hands, before the tugging across his abdomen reminds him of the painkiller that he has yet to take.

Sleep doesn't come easy; in his half-waking, wandering thoughts, Jim weighs his mother returning to his life and actively caring about him versus the possibility that the whole world is a lie, and when he finally does fall asleep, it's with one hand clutching the dully aching remnant of his wound.

His dreams are incoherent but vivid, sharing patterns of blood spatter – mostly a series of sensory impressions. The warmed metal of the knife against his palm. The torque it exerts against his hand when he slashes, twisting in his grip, and the way it slips back a little bit in the blood when he stabs. Colors, skewed and wrong – Spock bleeding red, Bones bleeding blue, uniforms changing shades without warning. He sees Scotty's face, first of many, mouth opened with surprise even as the blade slashes across his neck. Sulu next, a quick insertion through the ribs before he has time to raise any alarms. The breathtaking certainty that the world is _wrong_ , and the only way to correct it is to destroy it, bring the setpieces crashing down around his ears and maybe the real world will lie behind it -

The thought is still in Jim's head when he wakes up - _the world is wrong_ \- and everything in his room is cast in an eerie red glow. For a second he really can't breathe, his stomach twisting in a way that has nothing to do with his half-a-week-old stab wound, and he has a moment of near-panic because he's out, he got _out_ , it was a lie but he's out now -

A strange, shapeless blob floats into his field of view, and he recoils, or tries to – he ends up just twisting in midair, because he's floating about three feet above his bed.

"What the _fuck_?" he demands, although the facts begin slotting into place much more easily. The internal gravity's off, obviously, and the reason everything looks red is because some idiot designer thought that the best way to illustrate a red alert would be to have the lights literally turn red. Jim makes a mental note to track down the designer in Hell and teach him a few things about subtlety, preferably in unsubtle ways.

He hits his comm. "Kirk to _anyone_. Somebody respond!"

He waits for a response, only to be cut short by the sudden return of gravity. The impact with his bed is not too bad, luckily, as he manages to twist to avoid unfortunate pressure on his torso. The strange blob from earlier settles over him – his blanket. He tears it off his head and hits his comm again.

"I repeat, this is Captain Kirk, I want a status report from someone – anyone!"

Still nothing – the comms must be down, he decides. He stands up with a groan, and considers the pros and cons of painkillers: being able to function without doing his best impression of a hunchback in pain, or...well, there are really no downsides, are there? He grabs the painkiller container from his bedside, popping it open and swallowing one in a swift motion before he sets out for the bridge.

He's halfway down the first corridor when the gravity cuts out again. This time, at least, he has some idea that it could happen, and so manages to maneuver himself to stay on the floor; with a little effort, he continues his way towards the bridge, although he probably looks like a madman – arms and legs outstretched to the walls, inching himself forward on his back in a kind of upside-down akimbo soldier's crawl.

Gravity comes back and disappears again three more times before he makes it to the bridge, once even maintaining a strange half-gravity. The bridge itself is completely empty, all the consoles blank and powerless, including the main viewscreen. He gets himself into the captain's chair just as the ship loses gravity again.

"Goddamnit, why didn't they put a seatbelt in this thing," he mutters, clutching the armrests of the chair to keep himself in it. Another thing to bring up with the ship's designers, clearly.

Gravity reasserts itself, and Jim immediately tries the emergency shipwide comms. "This is Captain Kirk, all hands report to stations immediately, I repeat, _immediately_ you guys – as soon as you get to a comm, call the bridge." A faint echo from the corridor outside tells him that the shipwide comms are indeed working, which is a mercy, and Jim waits.

It takes only a few seconds for the first call to come in.

"Captain, this is Gaila - I don't know if you're getting this, but I'm in sickbay, please respond."

Jim calls up sickbay's internal comm immediately. "Gaila, this is Kirk, I read you. What's your status?"

"Oh, thank God, I thought the comms were down," says Gaila, sounding relieved. "Well, visual isn't working, obviously, and something's playing merry hell with the gravity here - "

"Up here, too," says Jim. "I woke up three feet above my bed, like something out of a horror movie. Besides, the artificial gravity's shipwide."

"The artificial gravity system's shipwide," Gaila agrees, "the same as the atmospheric system is, but just like individual decks or sections can get depressurized - "

"That's a happy metaphor, thanks," says Jim. "Is anyone else with you?"

"It's just me right now," says Gaila. "But I sure as hell hope someone gets here soon - I can't imagine somebody hasn't gotten hurt by now."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but I'm an engineer, not a doctor – as soon as anyone comes here with so much as a sprained wrist – Christine? Oh, thank God. Nurse Chapel's here."

"Captain, is that you?" comes Christine Chapel's voice.

"Nurse Chapel, are you hurt?"

"No, but Crewman Biggs is with me, with a broken fibula at the very least. I have no intention of leaving sickbay for the foreseeable future, so anyone who's injured can be sent – oh, for Christ's sake." Jim secures his grasp on the captain's chair as the gravity fails again. "Is there any way to fix this damn thing?"

"Working on it," says Jim tightly. "Gaila, you still there?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," says Gaila. "Just watching the equipment I just inventoried float its way into chaos. I've had nightmares like this."

"Thing is, Gaila," says Jim, "with the skeleton crew we've got, you're the most senior engineer aboard. Meaning that you're Acting Chief Engineer in a time of crisis – like, say, right now. I need a status report, ASAP."

"Well, at a glance, I can tell you that power's not the problem."

Jim glances at the dark, empty screens and readouts all around him. "Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like the problem is that everything's _off_." He lets out a slight whuff of pain as gravity turns back on. "Some of it intermittently, I admit, but - "

"Power's definitely _a_ problem," Gaila agrees, "but not the central one – we're looking at a software issue, not hardware. The artificial gravity system doesn't work off the main power lines, or even auxiliary – it's a self-sustaining system, with levels of entropy and inefficiency so low as to be negligible unless you're looking at a timescale of decades. But it's still governed by programming, same as everything else on this ship – the only way to get at the power and the gravity at the same time is through the code, and that's not Engineering's department."

Nurse Chapel's voice, again: "Well, whose department is it, then?"

Jim grits his teeth. "Spock's. Gaila, I want you - " He hesitates, weighing the advantages of Gaila at the bridge against the risks of taking a turbolift three decks with unstable and unpredictable gravity. "Gaila, I want you to stay there. See if you can patch into the system and figure out what's going on. If the gravity and power are being messed with, there's no telling what else might go wrong. Kirk out." He switches off that frequency, and immediately the computer chimes another incoming transmission – three, in fact, and Jim remembers that the shipwide systems can only have one frequency open per comm. Damn.

He keys in the overhead frequency. "Let me rephrase that," he says. "Ensign Chekov, Admiral Pike, and Commander Kirk, page frequency 662." He does so himself, and immediately hears a welcome voice.

" - said to call bridge, so we call the bridge, he says 662, we call 662, and if he says to jump off cliff, we say how high of a cliff _sir_!" comes Chekov's voice, clearly agitated.

"Uh, no cliffdiving today, Ensign," says Jim, blinking.

"Sir!" says Chekov, clearly surprised. "No – the – the cliff is metaphorical, sir."

"What are our orders, sir?" comes Rao's voice.

Jim frowns. "Where are you two?"

"My quarters, sir," answers Chekov immediately, this time slightly embarrassed. "We were, ah, discussing your leadership style. Sir."

"Right," says Jim. "Your quarters are, what, three decks down from the bridge?"

"There's a turbolift if you need me, Captain," says Chekov.

"Turbolifts are too dangerous in variable gravity," says Rao. "Unless you want to go _splat_ against the ceiling when suddenly the force exerted on the lift isn't being counterweighted by the ship's artificial gravity."

"She's right, Ensign," says Jim. "Stay there for now. If I need you in the bridge, we'll - "

"Jim?" Winona's voice comes onto the frequency. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," says Jim. "Where are you?"

"In my guest quarters," she says. "I didn't want to try using the turbolifts - "

"Good call," says Jim. "Are you any good at coding?"

"You think this is a coding problem?" she asks. "Well, I guess that would make sense, if it's affecting the artificial gravity and power both. How was our orbit? Do we have to worry about degradation?"

"We had reached stable orbit – the thrusters were only being used for occasional modifications," says Chekov. "We'll have to worry about dying of old age before we worry about our orbit decaying."

"That's comforting, Chekov, thanks," says Jim. "Mom – Commander - _whatever_ , can you see what you can do about the code?"

"I would," says Winona, "except that I took a look at the computers earlier. The Enterprise works on a different operating system than any of the other ships I've served on – it looks like a new version, but it's completely incomprehensible."

"The Enterprise is the beta for the system," Rao says. "And Admiral Pike has already received several strongly-worded complaints to that effect from the Science Department here."

"Including Spock?" asks Jim, curious despite himself.

"Yes," Rao admits. "His was very...polite."

"Sounds like Spock," Jim agrees. "Okay, so you can't fix it. Damn." He drums his fingers against the arms of the captain's chair, then abruptly stops as the ship loses gravity. Again. "Oh, god damn it. Okay, Mom – stay where you are. Tie yourself to the bed, whatever it takes – if you get hurt...Pike'll have my ass."

Winona snorts. "True."

"Chekov, Rao – work on getting shipwide computers back up, but _stay on your deck_. I don't want any of you falling down any turbolifts – that's one cliff that's staying firmly metaphorical, am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

Jim checks his chrono. "Where the hell is Admiral Pike?" he wonders.

"Speak of the devil, and the devil, he shall appear," comes Pike's voice.

Jim stares at the light of his comm. "How long have you been on this channel?" he demands.

"Just long enough to hear the best straight line I've ever been given in my life," says Pike. "Where do you need me?"

Jim hesitates. "You're the ranking officer in this situation," he says slowly. "Technically, you're in command."

"It's your ship," Pike points out.

"It's your fleet," Jim counters.

"That means I get to delegate. This one's all yours, Captain."

Jim nods to himself. "Right. Okay." He clears his throat. "Our first priority should be fixing the turbolifts. I'm ordering a complete evacuation of decks thirteen and twenty-six by shuttles and transporters respectively. In the meantime, Rao, your priorities are going to be getting the computers to turn on – after that, make sure all life support systems are online and functioning properly, and then get to work on the turbolifts, if they aren't already fixed. Admiral Pike, which deck are your guest quarters on?"

"I'm not evacuating," says Pike firmly.

"I'd like to point out that you gave command to me," says Jim.

"One of the privileges of outranking you is that I can make you give orders to everyone else and ignore you when you try to give them to me," says Pike. "I'm on deck thirteen – I'll oversee the evacuation by shuttles. How many evacuees should I anticipate?"

"Good question," says Jim grimly. "Off the top of my head, I can think of about fifteen, but without the computers online I can't check the skeleton crew by deck."

"I'll expect around fifteen, then," says Pike. "Make the announcement."

"Yes, sir," says Jim wryly. "Everyone else, unless you're directly paging another area of the ship, keep this frequency open – the emergency comms will override it anyway. Chekov, your quarters are on twenty-six, right?"

"Captain, I will be more useful on the ship," says Chekov, his voice strained.

"I agree," says Jim. "But first you're going to work your transporter magic and evacuate the deck. Everyone's got their orders – let's get this done. Keep me posted."

"Understood, Captain," says Chekov.

"Yes, sir," says Rao.

"All right, Jim," says Winona, with surprisingly little debate.

Jim switches back to the overhead. "Everyone, this is the Captain speaking. As you can probably tell, we're having some trouble with our artificial gravity, and at the moment we don't know what other systems are affected. Turbolifts are officially off-limits – so far the gravity's only been switching between on and off, but we don't want to risk trying to operate the turbolifts in six-gee with people inside. I'm ordering evacuations on decks thirteen and twenty-six by shuttle and transporter – all personnel from those two decks are to report to the shuttle bay or transporter room immediately. Everyone else will be evacuated as soon as the turbolifts are dealt with. Senior staff are working on the problem – for now, everyone needs to stay at their stations and try to keep things from falling apart. Kirk out."

He switches off the overhead comm just as the gravity returns, and he winces as the half-an-inch fall jostles his still-sore stomach. Then he looks over at the helm, and gets an idea.

He's always been a fairly good hacker; the Kobayashi Maru was hardly the first time he'd gotten into supposedly-secure Starfleet programs. The issue here seems to be more that nothing will turn on in the first place, making coding something of a moot point; he's about ten seconds away from taking apart the helm itself when the first update comes in.

"Bridge, this is Admiral Pike."

Jim crawls out from underneath the helm and sits up. "Admiral, this is Kirk. What's going on? It hasn't been long enough to evacuate."

"No, it hasn't been," Pike agrees. "The shuttle bay's been decompressed."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Evacuation by shuttle's no longer an option, and I think this also rules out the possibility of an accident. The shuttle bay is designed to maintain compression in case of an emergency – this has to be deliberate."

Jim swears under his breath. "Which means this just got a lot more complicated."

"Exactly," Pike agrees.

"So what do you think are the chances of the transporter still working?"

"Slim to none."

"Let's see." Jim switches back to 662. "Ensign Chekov, this is the Captain, please respond."

Jim catches the end of a Russian curse. "Captain, yes, I am here. Something has significantly reduced the range of the transporter – am trying to compensate, but it does not want to - " He breaks off with another curse. "This should not happen!"

"Chekov, I want you back with Rao," says Jim. "You need to get the computers back - "

"Jim, what the hell's going on?" demands Winona. "The transporters aren't working, Pike just told me that the shuttle bay's decompressed, the gravity's gone all to hell - "

"Mom - " Jim hisses out a breath in frustration. "Just – not now, okay?"

"Captain – the range of the transporter has been limited, but we could still attempt to beam within the ship...?" suggests Chekov timidly.

"And beam someone right into a bulkhead," mutters Rao perfectly audibly.

"If you were trying it, perhaps," snaps Chekov. "I know this ship like the back of my hand - "

"Kids!" barks Jim. "Argue later, fix things now! Something weird is going on with my ship and I want to know what it is!"

Rao and Chekov both mutter apologies.

"Okay," comes Gaila's breathless voice, "I've got Sickbay systems up and running."

"How'd you do that?" asks Jim.

"I disconnected the network connection," says Gaila apologetically. "The room's not on the wireless network, since it's shielded from EM interference. It's not going to work anywhere else. But anyone who's hurt can be sent here now – we're having the same gravity issues as everyone else, but our machines aren't going to malfunction and we've got our own secondary generator."

"So you can't tell what's causing all this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," says Gaila.

"Right," says Jim. He raises his voice a little. "Chekov, you said that you could beam within the ship?"

"Uh," says Chekov. "Da, yes, is possible, but not directly from a third location to sickbay – would have to be the third location to the transporter room to sickbay."

"Fine." He switches back to the overhead. "Attention all personnel. Any and all injured crew members should contact the transporter room – Ensign Chekov will transport you to sickbay for treatment. Use the emergency frequencies in the comms built directly into the ship – personal comms are not, I repeat, _not_ functioning. Kirk out." He flips a switch on the console of the captain's chair, muttering to himself, "Jesus Christ, this job is like herding cats."

"Herding captains is worse," comes Pike's voice. Jim glances down at the console and sees that he did not, in fact, turn the comm off like he'd meant to, but instead switched to the open frequency.

"I can only imagine, sir," manages Jim. Then he frowns, and turns towards the familiar sound of a transporter, and sees his mother materialize in the middle of his bridge. "Mom? What the hell are you doing?"

"I thought you could use a hand, so I asked Ensign Chekov to beam me here," says Winona, heading towards the helm.

"Chekov," says Jim threateningly, directing his voice towards the comm on his chair.

"She said she could help!" says Chekov.

"You need a science officer," says Winona, ignoring them both. "I happen to be both qualified and present, which puts me ahead of most other possible applicants. How many science personnel are on board right now, not counting the ones working on hydroponics for the party?"

Jim puts off answering as long as he can. "Three," he says finally.

"There you go, then," says Winona. "I hope you're not going to ask me for character references or anything, because we really don't have the time."

"It would be hypocritical of him," says Pike. "I know for a fact he didn't ask Spock for them."

"What are you doing?" Jim asks Winona, as she ducks beneath the helm console.

"A little trick I picked up in my time aboard the Jumpcannon," says Winona. "Or maybe it was the Endeavor. There's a smaller power supply built into each individual console, to keep it running in case of smaller-scale blackouts from combat damage, but if this is a coding problem like I think it is, then it could be that each console got a shut-down message before the power cut, meaning that the power supply should still be full." She begins tugging out various wires, crossing them and un-crossing them. "We could get a good couple minutes of access before it runs out. And," she adds, "I apologize in advance to your chief engineer and helmsman, because this is not going to be pretty when I'm done with it."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Jim says absently, "he already lost his poker game."

"What, dear?" asks Winona.

"Nothing," says Jim quickly. He crosses to the helm and ducks halfway under before his torso protests; he stays crouched there until Winona pulls herself out from beneath it.

"There," she says, and Jim stands up again – only the helmsman's console is on, and it's glowing much dimmer than usual, but at least it appears to be working.

"Not bad," says Jim, examining it. "Okay, first things first - " He opens the trajectory projection.

Winona glances over his shoulder. "Jim," she says slowly. "Does that inward spiral mean what I think it means?"

"That's impossible," says Jim. "The orbit was stable – it shouldn't be decaying this fast - " He taps on the screen a few more times, and stares some more. "Okay, that's not right," he says. "Our velocity had a couple more zeros behind it."

"Can you check the engine's logs?" suggests Winona, and Jim does so, before cursing.

"There," he says, pointing at the last entry. "An impulse burst, decelerating us." He frowns. "But who gave that order? There wasn't anybody on the bridge – with the skeleton crew as light as it is, nobody's assigned to gamma shift..."

"Just because nobody's assigned doesn't mean nobody's there," Winona points out.

"But it was under an hour ago," says Jim. "About the same time that the gravity started to go. There's no way anyone would risk the turbolifts, and I didn't see anyone in the corridor - "

"And the order didn't necessarily have to come from the bridge," adds Winona.

"True," says Jim darkly. He walks back to the captain's chair, sits, and changes frequencies again. "Gaila, you there?"

"I'm here," comes the reply. "The fact that we're not tapped into the network means that we can't access any computers outside, well, this one - "

" - I'm working on it!" says Rao.

" - or any data from before the system went down – which was at around oh-four-hundred hours this morning."

Jim glances back at the dimmed console. "But you can access information stored before then?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah," says Gaila. There's a bloodcurdling scream in the background, and Gaila adds, "Sorry. Lieutenant Otero dislocated her shoulder – Christine had to pop it back in."

Jim winces, and Winona hisses in sympathy.

"Can you see whose authorization code was used to give an order for an impulse burst at oh-three-fifty-two?" he asks. "Or was that after it stopped storing data?"

"No, that was about two minutes before," says Gaila, and Jim can hear her tapping, although it could, he supposes, equally be Pike, Chekov, or Rao.

"Sir," says Chekov quietly, "I cannot help but notice – has been a while since the gravity has gone, yes? Maybe it is a good thing?"

"Feels like the calm before the storm," says Pike.

"Feels like it's gonna be a big one," Jim agrees.

"...was only a thought," mutters Chekov defensively.

"Okay, I've got - " Gaila breaks off, sounding puzzled. "That doesn't make any sense," she murmurs.

"What? Gaila, you got something?" Winona looks over at Jim expectantly.

"I – maybe," she says. "It's telling me – it says that the authorization code used was yours, sir."

Jim freezes. "What?"

"The Captain's authorization code," says Gaila uncertainly. "That's – it's what it says here, sir."

 _Sir_ , Jim thinks distantly. Weird how people get more respectful when they're telling you the last thing you want to hear.

"Someone got his code...?" says Chekov, in a very small voice.

"No," says Jim dully. "I don't think so." He clears his throat, over the roaring in his ears. "Admiral Pike?"

"Yes, Captain?" says Pike wearily.

"I hereby resign my commission," says Jim, "under the suspicion that I've been compromised."

There's a moment where it feels like no one breathes; Jim can see his mother's eyes widen, and hear Chekov's sudden intake of breath.

"Compromised?" Winona repeats.

"The Jallidar isolationists were experts at conditioning," says Jim numbly. "They had it down to a science. Every time an off-world official came to the planet, they were kidnapped, held, and eventually sent back to their ship, which inevitably didn't make it back to its destination. At least," he adds, "not with any survivors. Apparently they thought it sent a stronger message than just sabotaging the ships themselves."

"They conditioned you?" asks Winona, looking horrified.

Jim looks at her, eyes bleak. "Have you got a better explanation for all this?"

"But Commander Spock said you'd broken through it," protests Chekov. "And Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel said - "

"We're looking at empirical evidence that suggests otherwise," says Rao, then, more softly, "I'm sorry."

Jim's not entirely sure if she's talking to him or Chekov.

"Captain Kirk," says Pike heavily, "your resignation is accepted. Ensign Chekov, can you get a lock on him?"

"I will not send my captain to the brig," says Chekov stubbornly.

"I was going to say 'sickbay,' Ensign," says Pike. "I think at this point it's better if we keep the Captain sedated until all this is figured out."

"Oh," says Chekov. "I. Yes."

"I guess this is your can of worms now, Admiral," says Jim, refusing to meet his mother's eyes.

"Don't expect me to thank you for it," says Pike. "Assuming we survive."

"Chekov," says Jim, finally looking up. Winona's staring at him disbelievingly. "Whenever you're ready," he finishes hoarsely, and the bridge disintegrates around him.

Chekov is standing at the transporter controls, next to Rao. Both of them looked worriedly at him as he materializes, and Chekov comes around the controls.

"Sir," he says urgently, "I don't believe it was you. You wouldn't do anything to hurt us - "

"You're right, Chekov," says Jim, cutting him off. "I would never _deliberately_ do anything to harm my ship or my crew."

Chekov catches the emphasis, and looks away.

Rao clears her throat. "Coordinates are set for sickbay," she says quietly.

"No offense, Ensign Rao," says Jim, "but I'd prefer if Chekov handled this one. He's done it before."

Chekov nods, still looking at the floor, but crosses back behind the console. "I would like to state for the record," he says, "that I still do not believe it was you."

Jim swallows thickly. "Noted," he says. "And thanks."

Chekov glances up, and nods once, sharply.

"Engage," says Jim.

And nothing happens.

Rao frowns. Chekov frowns harder and presses the button again, more forcefully. Jim gives it a second.

"Everything all right over there, Ensigns?" he asks.

"Uh," says Chekov. "Yes. That is, no."

"How the hell did that happen?" says Rao.

"What the hell _did_ happen?" asks Jim.

"The transporter's range has been altered again," says Chekov.

"To what?"

"Approximately half a meter." He looks up at Jim. "The range was more than that when we beamed you here, Captain."

"Seeing as I wasn't standing right over there, I believe you," says Jim, stepping off the transporter pad. "Admiral Pike, are you there?"

"I'm here," says Pike. "I have to say, this is a pretty convenient failure of equipment."

"Admiral, please believe it was not me," says Chekov. "I would cover my tracks _much_ better."

"He really would," says Jim.

"And could not be the Captain, either," adds Chekov stubbornly. "Unless he can jerry-rig equipment with his mind, and if anyone on the ship could do that, it would be Scotty, not him." He glances over at Jim, and shrugs. "Sorry, Captain, but is true."

"It could've been a pre-programmed subroutine, or an AI-directed virus," says Winona. "I'm sorry, Jim, but I don't think this gets you off the hook."

"Me neither," says Jim darkly. "Ensign Chekov, do you have your phaser on you?"

Chekov's eyes widen, and Jim adds, "I just want you to set it on stun and be prepared. We don't know what – what they could make me do."

Chekov looks relieved, and sets his phaser on stun. "Do not want to find out if shooting Captain is still considered mutiny if on Captain's orders," he mutters to himself.

Jim looks at Chekov, and debates lying to him and telling him everything will be okay. Chekov's nervous, definitely – these days his accent only gets this thick when he's either drunk or convinced they're all going to die – but Jim is getting surer by the moment that this is going to end badly.

"I think we need to get a clearer idea of what, exactly, is going on," comes Winona's voice. "Right now, we don't have a lot of information."

"Here's how it looks to me, given the information we have," says Pike. "We're a bit pressed for time, so you'll excuse my frankness. The Jallidarians captured Captain Kirk, along with Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock, with the intention of influencing Captain Kirk to return to the ship and kill everyone aboard. Although Captain Kirk appeared to break free to the conditioning on Jallidar, it's still possible there was another subconscious layer there, in case he should escape. Captain Kirk returned to the Enterprise, where the conditioning took hold and he enacted the sabotage, creating the situation we're now in."

"It still doesn't make sense," argues Winona. "I barely know the ship at all, and if I were trying to sabotage it, I'd just begin the orbit degradation and cut power entirely – then there'd be no chance of a rescue. And Jim knows the ship a whole hell of a lot better than I do – Jim, if you really wanted to bring the Enterprise out of the sky, right now, could you?"

Jim grimaces. "Probably," he admits.

"Then _why the hell are we still up here_?" asks Winona. "This whole thing is too complicated. Why mess with the gravity or the coding at all, if you have the full authority to go ahead and order the ship on a collision course without the computer asking a single question? Or to order the warp core to lose its own containment? Why worry about the transporters, or the shuttles – or for that matter, if it _was_ Jim, why didn't the sabotage occur the first night he was out of sickbay? Or the first night he was conscious? Why now?"

"Maybe I'm an incompetent subconscious saboteur," says Jim. "Or maybe my subconscious is fighting the programming and leaving loopholes."

"Conveniently leaving loopholes that nevertheless somehow manage to close themselves as soon as we can actually use them?" Winona presses.

"Deliberately breaching the warp core requires voice-print authorization," muses Chekov. "Ordering a change of course requires voice-print authorization. Ordering an impulse burst only requires an authorization code."

"An impulse burst doesn't count as a change of course, even in a gravity well?" says Winona skeptically.

"Not under the current operating system," says Rao. "I'll, um. Make sure to file a bug report about that."

Chekov continues. "And nobody knows the ship better than the Captain – everything that is happening now feels like someone is poking around the systems, trying to figure out what does what."

"From what I was given to understand," adds Pike thoughtfully, "the previous victims of the Jallidar isolationists left the ships entirely intact, only killing the crew. Why change that now?"

"Maybe they never had to resort to Plan B before," says Rao.

As the argument continues, Jim sits down on the edge of the transporter. He feels useless, or worse – helpless. Every second the ship loses altitude, possibly because of him, and he can't help but shy away from every thought that crosses his mind, uncertain of whether it's actually him thinking it. The frustration is almost overwhelming, and he wants to punch something, but he can't tell if it's his usual impulse or something more sinister, sliding through his mind and using him like a puppet.

He feels...defeated.

"Captain?"

He looks up and sees Chekov, looking worried, and it occurs to him that that probably wasn't Chekov's first time trying to get his attention. Rao, standing next to him, looks similarly skittish, although she's also watching Jim warily, like she can't quite tell if he's friend or foe.

 _Welcome to the club_ , Jim thinks.

"If there's even a chance that I'm a threat," he says, "we can't risk it."

"But it does not make _sense_!" wails Chekov.

"I'm tempted to agree with Ensign Chekov," comes Gaila's voice, sounding strained. "He's right – things just don't add up."

"Like what?" says Jim, trying to rein in his sudden impatience. "The gravity? The way the orders came down?"

"No," says Gaila patiently. "Like the fact that there are eight more lifesigns aboard the ship than are accounted for by the skeleton crew and our visitors."

Nobody speaks for a long moment. Then Jim manages a shocked, " _What_?"

"They may not be _on_ the ship," Gaila admits. "Or might not have been until recently. It could be that they were in a shuttle trailing behind us, in the lee of our warp – if they did that, they could get by with using virtually no power output, and we wouldn't be able to detect them. Of course, with the search radius I used for the portable lifesigns detector, it seems a lot more probable that they're actually _on_ the ship at this point."

"Where did you get the lifesigns detector? I thought you weren't connected to the network," says Rao.

"I'm not," says Gaila. "There's a portable one in the emergency medkit here in sickbay - I figured if I got it working, we could check to make sure the whole crew's accounted for, just in case. Of course, now we don't know for sure – we weren't expecting _more_ lifesigns."

"They're on the ship?" breathes Jim. Then he gets angry. "Those _bastards_ are _on my ship_?"

"Do you know _where_ they are?" Winona asks.

"The emergency lifesigns detector is only supposed to be used to determine how many survivors need to be rescued," says Gaila. "It's not connected to the network, and it doesn't have any schematics – it's not supposed to be used onboard the ship, since that's what the ship's lifesigns detectors are for."

"It was bad enough when I thought the bastards were just in my head, but they're _on my ship_?" Jim snarls.

"We don't know it's Jallidarians," says Rao, although she sounds uncertain.

"No, you're right," says Jim. "It could be one of those _other_ races we've visited within the past week with a vested interest in killing everybody onboard."

"It would explain a few things," says Winona. "The reason the attack's been so incompetent is because they're unfamiliar with our systems. The gravity issues could be an accident – if they don't know what they're doing - "

"It's a very convenient accident, though," says Gaila. "Doing _exactly_ the act of sabotage that keeps the crew confined to their deck, since who's going to risk the turbolifts or Jefferies tubes when the gravity could come or go at any moment? And most people wouldn't even dream of risking transporting within the ship – only Chekov."

"Is not that hard," Chekov mutters, smugly.

"So maybe they do know what they're doing," Pike allows. "Why reduce the range of the transporters, instead of just sabotaging them altogether?"

"Because the shuttle bay's decompressed," says Winona. "That means they can't use it, either. But if they know where their shuttle is, and have a transporter pad _there_ \- "

"You think they were going to use our transporter to get off the ship?" asks Jim.

"It makes sense," says Rao. "They left it up as long as they could, but once they realized that we were still using it anyway, they made it useless again – but still running, so that they don't have to do an entire system restart, which would take too long. If they've got control of the main computers, they can change the range back whenever they want."

"So they get onboard, cut the power so that we don't know we're falling, cut the gravity so we can't leave our deck, cut comms so that nobody else can _tell_ us we're falling..."

"Starfleet Command won't be expecting a known friendly ship to suddenly fall out of the sky without any warning, especially not when it and pretty much everyone else is on leave," adds Pike. "And especially not on gamma-shift."

"Even if they did figure it out, a ship as massive as the Enterprise, what can they do?" says Winona. "Without any help from onboard the ship itself, you put in a lot of force and still get relatively little acceleration, and when you're trying to keep yourself in orbit, too, you're definitely not going to get a the sort of force required, to say nothing of the damage you'd incur on your own ship if you tried."

"How did they get control of the main computers?" wonders Chekov. "Or the Captain's authorization code? Perhaps they altered the readout so it _said_ the Captain's quarters?"

"How much of your three days on Jallidar do you remember, Captain?" asks Pike.

Silence falls, thick and uncomfortable. Eventually Jim admits, "Not a whole lot. It – wouldn't surprise me if that's how they got the code."

"But you wouldn't - " begins Chekov, before a severe look from Rao quells him.

"Ensign," says Pike, "if you're ever in an interrogation situation, and I hope to hell you never are, remember this afterwards – everybody breaks. Everybody. It's just a matter of time."

Jim keeps his gaze away from Chekov. "Gaila, what's the easiest place aboard the Enterprise to access the main computers?"

"If you're trying to get both the gravity _and_ the power, it's still a code issue," says Gaila. "Which means it has to be the server room. That's the only way to get both and maintain this level of control."

"The server room," repeats Jim. "That's...way on the other end of the ship."

"Thirty decks away from you," Gaila agrees. "Thirty decks _down_."

"Okay," says Jim. "So the question now becomes, risk the Jefferies tubes or take the turbolift?"

"Captain," says Gaila. "Jim. I just want you to know that Christine's done with all her patients, so she came over here and has been listening, and she doesn't look particularly pleased with the idea of you going."

"Chekov, do you still have that phaser?" asks Nurse Chapel dangerously.

"There are eight of them, Captain," Pike says. "And there's only one of you."

"Someone needs to go or we all go splat," says Jim. "Call me strange, but I kind of don't want to go splat."

"Sir, you can't go alone," protests Chekov.

"He's right, sir," says Rao, before taking a deep breath. "I'll go with you."

Jim stares at her. "Yeah, no," he says. "Have you got advanced combat training?"

"I led the Starfleet Academy Women's Lacrosse team to Interplanetaries four years in a row, sir," says Rao firmly. "We were undefeated all four years."

"Nobody's going down there," interrupts Winona. "One on eight - "

"Two on eight," says Rao stubbornly.

"Three," says Chekov.

"Ensign, I'm ordering you to _no_ ," says Jim. He turns to Rao, considering. "Four years of women's lacrosse?"

"Yes, sir," says Rao, her expression tight but fearless.

"Then I'm coming too," says Winona.

"No, you're not," says Jim. "For one thing, you're three decks above us – that's three more decks of potential death to navigate."

"Captain," says Pike, "I'd like to remind you that you resigned your commission."

Jim pauses. "Oh. Right." He clears his throat. "Well, I don't think I'm compromised any more, if that makes a difference."

"Can we really be sure of that, though?" asks Pike.

"Oh, believe me, Admiral," says Jim, his eyes glinting. "I'm way, _way_ too pissed off to be compromised."

There's another short silence, until Pike says, "Ensign Rao, how would you like some practical experience in a combat situation?"

"I would like it a lot, sir, thank you," says Rao.

"Very well, then," says Pike. "Captain Kirk, I've changed my mind. Your resignation is no longer accepted."

"Thank you, sir," says Jim, and something occurs to him. "Right, here's the plan. I'm taking the turbolift down to the server room, alone – quiet, Ensign, I'm not done yet. I'm taking the turbolift down to the server room, as a Trojan horse – offer to surrender, distract them until I can get the transporter working again. Chekov, you beam Rao in and any other reinforcements that might be useful, and we kick their asses. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like the worst plan I've ever heard," says Winona. "You can't possibly be serious."

"If it doesn't work, you can say I told you so." He hesitates, and then adds, with emphasis. "I suggest we maintain radio silence. Kirk out." He turns off the frequency, and turns to Rao and Chekov, who are both staring at him.

"Sir," says Rao eventually, "that plan is suicide."

"Which is why we're not doing it," Jim agrees. "If they have control of our main computer system, then why the hell have we been assuming that our communications are secure? I should've thought of it earlier. Rao, you and I are taking the Jefferies tubes down. Chekov, you're going to hotwire one of the turbolifts to go down there on its own – they'll probably turn off the gravity, to strand us between decks, but since we'll be in the Jefferies tubes - "

"And if they turn the gravity up to crush you?" asks Chekov, eyes wide.

"Then the turbolift's still empty, and we'll just be really, really careful in the Jefferies tubes," says Jim. "I'm hoping they'll want to keep us in case they need hostages."

"Forgive my saying it, sir, but that's not particularly comforting," says Rao, looking pale.

Jim looks at her, surprised. "What makes you think that anything about this is going to be at all comfortable, Ensign?"

She looks even more disconcerted.

"Chekov," says Jim, switching back to Captain-mode. "Rao and I are going to try to take them by surprise and get the transporter working again. As soon as it's back up, you're going to beam them to the brig, and beam Rao and I out of there, you understand?"

Chekov does not look particularly pleased. "Still do not like this plan."

"Have you got a better one?" asks Jim. "Here, does Lieutenant Remedios still keep an extra phaser beneath the console?"

Chekov checks, and hands over the resultant weapon.

"Rao, you got one of your own?"

"Yes, sir," says Rao, her voice shaking a bit. Jim glances at her.

"You think you're gonna be okay for this?"

"I'm fine, sir," says Rao firmly, standing up straighter.

"You sure?"

"Your asking me if I'm sure is not making me any surer, sir," she snaps.

"Duly noted," says Jim, setting his own phaser on stun. "All right. Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

The Jefferies tubes are just down the hallway, and Jim loosens the access panel before turning back to Rao.

"Make sure your phaser holster is tight," he says. "We don't want to lose our weapons. The Jefferies tubes echo like a son of a bitch, so we're going to have to be as quiet as possible while we're in there. I'm going down first, and you're following, _no arguing, Ensign_. If you fall, try to grab me on the way down. While we're going down, if the gravity goes like I think it will, make sure you have at least one hand on the ladder at all times anyway, do you understand? I don't want to be in freefall when the gravity comes back, and I really don't want you to be either, because Pike will kill me."

"Yes, sir," says Rao, now looking slightly green and staring at the access panel. Jim frowns at her.

"You say the word and you're back in the transporter room," he says as gently as he can. "But if you're coming, I need to know that you've got my back. Can you do that?"

Rao's gaze snaps up to his, and she nods. "I'm ready, sir," she says, clearly lying.

Jim hesitates, but removes the access panel anyway. He climbs in backwards and feet-first, feeling carefully for the rungs of the ladder. When his waist is level with the floor, he nods to Rao, who looks down the corridor and gives the signal to Chekov, who (Jim assumes) sends the decoy turbolift. Jim continues down the ladder, and when he's below the level of the floor, he reaches up and gives a thumbs-up; Rao's feet appear above him, and he continues climbing down to give her room.

She's breathing heavily, and it reverberates in the cramped Jefferies tube, making Jim nervous. His palms are sweaty even before he hits the first deck-number painted next to the ladder – one down, twenty-nine to go.

They're twenty-seven decks up when the gravity goes. When it happens, Jim can hear Rao gasp, and see her clutch the ladder in the dimmed red light.

"Okay," Jim whispers up to her, "this is the part where we try to go faster."

He shoves himself down, to give himself some momentum, but keeps his hands on the vertical edges of the ladder. Above him, he can see Rao do the same, although with considerably more care, keeping one hand free to hover above the rungs. It's a good system, Jim admits, and moves his feet closer to the rungs, to jam between them should the gravity return. Part of him almost hopes it will – he's never had to fight in null-gee, and he doesn't particularly feel like starting to do so now.

That's probably what does it, of course. The gravity comes back with a vengeance, about five decks above the server room; Jim manages to cling to the ladder, but his fingers almost slip, although he manages to get his grip settled before he falls. This unfortunately has the added effect of nearly dislocating his shoulder. Rao fares better, having been proceeding with more caution the whole time, which is good – from the feel of it, they're dealing with at least two gees.

The blood drains from Jim's head, and he blinks repeatedly to stay conscious.

"Rao?" he whispers.

"Yessir," mutters Rao. Jim glances up, although the movement makes him dizzy – between her feet, he can see that she's leaning heavily against the ladder, although she has her arms hooked through it at what looks like a painful, albeit secure, angle. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by a distant thud and reverberation.

"I guess they didn't need hostages after all," says Jim eventually, keeping his voice low. When he looks back up, Rao's shaking violently enough that he can see, and a spot of wetness lands on his cheek. She draws in a ragged breath, and he realizes with a mixture of relief and a distinct sinking feeling that she's crying. "...you okay, Ensign?"

Rao doesn't reply immediately. "Just give me a second, sir," she requests weakly, sniffing. "I just - I don't usually mind heights, but..."

Jim glances down. They're only five decks above the server room, but the Jefferies tube goes from the very bottom of the ship to the very top - another design flaw, now that he thinks about it – and he can't see the bottom.

"Don't think about the climb," he suggests. "Give it a minute for the adrenalin to kick in."

She takes another shuddering breath. "I think it already has," she says. "I think that's why I'm shaking so much."

"Okay, then," says Jim, glancing down again. Every second, more altitude lost... "Think about punching Jallidarians in the face. That's keeping me on track pretty well."

Rao chokes out a wet laugh. "It would," she says.

"Okay, Rao – Sara?" He looks up to see her nod. "Sara. I'm not going to lie. I'm sorry you're having second thoughts, but there's really no time. We have to get down there, and we have to do it quick – it's not going to take that long for them to figure out that we weren't in the turbolift, and then they're going to come here. It would be really, really good if we weren't here when that happened, okay?"

"Yessir," Rao repeats.

"Good," Jim encourages. "Now, my hand's off the rung below you, so just pick up one of your feet and move it down one, can you do that?"

"All due respect, sir," says Rao, although her voice sounds stronger now, "you're being very patronizing."

Jim grins. "Let's see some movement, then, Ensign."

Rao's right foot leaves its rung and, oh so slowly, like a half-hearted leap of faith, stretches towards the rung below it. When it finally touches, Rao lets out a breath of relief, and Jim begins his downward climb again.

Another two decks down, there's a dizzying moment when the gravity goes back to normal, and Jim nearly loses his grip on the ladder in surprise.

"Three more decks to go," he calls up quietly to Rao. "You ready?"

"I don't think I've got much of a choice," she mutters, perfectly audibly.

"Nope, not really," Jim agrees. "Come on."

Jim goes down first, and the furthest; the access panel for the deck is on his left, slightly recessed into the wall. He climbs about even with it, and wraps his right arm around the side of the ladder, carefully transferring his phaser from the holster to that hand. With his left, he reaches out to the handle of the access panel, carefully working the panel free while keeping his aim with the phaser. He tilts the access panel forward just enough to get a glance of the hallway beyond it – it looks surprisingly empty of Jallidarians, and for a moment he wonders if they were all wrong, and it really _was_ him, until he sees a shadow waiting on the corridor floor.

An ambush.

Well, less of one now that he knows about it, at least. He carefully lowers the access panel so that it's halfway in the Jefferies tube, but also invisible to whoever's standing there waiting. Getting himself out of the tube quietly is more difficult, as is crouching in the entranceway to the access panel while Rao pulls herself out too, but they both manage it.

They come around the corner with phasers blazing. Jim takes out both of the guards waiting to ambush them before they can even fire a shot, although Rao doesn't get the chance to fire, either. She covers his back as he edges forwards towards the server room – there are at least eight of them, six of them now, but there's no sign of anyone else and it's really pretty disconcerting.

There's another corner between them and the server room, and Jim glances around it carefully, phaser at the ready – but there's nobody guarding it, at least not from the outside. He turns back to Rao.

"Okay," he tells her quietly. "Here's the plan: Shoot them."

Rao waits expectantly, then raises her eyebrows when he doesn't continue. "Is that...it?"

"Pretty much," says Jim. "We need to get the transporter working again as soon as possible, so if you get the chance to get to the computer while there are still some of them fighting – well, the transporter's the highest priority, because then the other priorities will be beamed to the brig. Or possibly into cold vacuum." Jim glances around the corner again – still nobody. "You know earlier, when we thought that I was compromised, and we decided that the safety of the ship takes priority over me?" Rao nods. "That still applies. No matter what happens in there, we need to save the ship, understood?"

Rao steels herself, gripping her phaser tighter although her fingers are still trembling. "Understood, sir."

"If it makes you feel any better," suggests Jim, "picture all of the Jallidarians with the face of someone you really don't like."

"My mother always said to picture them naked," says Rao distractedly. "Although I guess there's a difference between school plays and...well, and going up against six probably-armed and definitely-dangerous aliens with a bone to pick."

"Hey, if you feel more comfortable shooting naked people, try that," says Jim. "I'm not here to judge your lifestyle choices."

That earns a strained smile from her, and Jim sets his phaser to 'maximum stun,' which, he knows from experience, stings like a bitch.

"For England, Harry, and Saint George," Rao mutters, doing the same to hers.

"What?" says Jim.

"Nothing," says Rao. "I don't even remember where it's from. I should check it out, if...when we're done with this."

"Do that," says Jim. He takes a breath, and nods to her. She nods back.

He keeps his phaser out as he crosses to the server room, just in case, and positions himself on the side of the door that'll be in the line of fire first, keeping his thumb on the door override to keep it closed. Rao takes the hint and takes the other side; he lets go of the override, and the door opens.

Chaos erupts pretty much immediately. Rao ends up preceding Jim into the room, charging like a berserker the second it's open. It seems to take the Jallidarians a bit by surprise, and she takes one out pretty much immediately. Jim follows, stunning two on his way, before fire from one of the Jallidarians' phasers hits his own. The pins-and-needles sensation from the nimbus makes him drop it, and he ducks more fire, losing track of Rao in the process.

There's nothing to duck behind, though, so he decides to just go for it. He successfully tackles a Jallidarian, feeling as much as hearing the crack as the Jallidarian's head impacts the deck, and he rolls off as quickly as he can, standing back up, his heart beating quick from the adrenalin.

There are two left, although only one has a phaser, and Rao seems to be taking care of him. The other is advancing menacingly on Jim – he's not particularly tall, but he's thick, and Jim knows this won't be easy.

The Jallidarian throws a punch, but Jim ducks under and delivers an uppercut to his jaw – which in retrospect was a mistake, because he took his eyes off the Jallidarian's foot, which nails him right in the stomach.

The pain is incredible, like fire, and it takes Jim a second to figure out why the hell it hurts so badly when he's been kicked in the stomach before. He gets it, though, when he puts a hand where it hurts and it comes away bloody.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, _Bones is going to kill me._

And then the Jallidarian is advancing again, and he stops thinking, just moves.

He doesn't duck quite in time, and receives a punch right on his cheekbone, knocking him off his feet; then another kick to his stomach, and another. If the Jallidarian has noticed that his boot is coming away bloody, then he doesn't care, or maybe considers it an advantage.

This isn't the first time Jim's been beaten up by a Jallidarian isolationist, but it definitely pisses him off more this time than last time. He uses the anger as motivation, and manages to catch the Jallidarian's foot the next time he goes to kick, wrenching it _up_ as hard as he can, and the Jallidarian topples over like a logged tree.

Jim leans against the wall to stand up, as the Jallidarian reaches for one of his fallen allies' phasers. Jim gets to it first, and picks it up, pointing it at the Jallidarian. It's set to kill, he notices. How interesting.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to never kick a man when he down?" Jim asks, his hand level. He waits until the very last moment to change the setting to 'stun' before shooting him.

Then he looks around. Rao is lying on the floor, hopefully just unconscious, although her attacker is also out some distance away. He appears, for once, to be the last person standing.

"Rao?" he hisses at her. No response. He takes a step closer to her, and the world tilts – but he can't help but notice that her neck is at an angle best described as 'bad.'

Priorities, he reminds himself.

He staggers over to the computer console, and tries to focus on it, despite the way it appears to be swimming in front of his eyes. Eventually it becomes clear enough – or at least, not-blurry enough – that he can read it, and he keys in the necessary commands to enable the transporter again and turns on the emergency frequency.

"Kirk to Chekov," he says. "You there?"

"I'm here, sir," says Chekov, and the Jallidarians disappear in the transporter's rings of light.

"Good," says Jim. "I think we need a medic. Probably more than one." He squints at the console. "And someone to get the ship back into a stable orbit."

"Understood, sir," says Chekov, as Jim's legs give out from under him and he sits down heavily next to the console. The blood is soaking through his uniform now, dripping onto the floor, and he doesn't remember there being quite this much blood _last_ time.

He leans his head against it and closes his eyes, but opens them when he hears the familiar sound of the transporter again, and sees Nurse Chapel leaning over him.

"He's alive," she calls, and Jim struggles to sit up a bit more, craning his neck to see Rao.

"Rao - ?"

"We need a backboard," calls another medic, somewhere beyond Nurse Chapel.

"She's fine," says Chapel, clearly lying. She takes out a hypospray.

"She's not - " begins Jim, before Chapel cuts him off again.

"I have to admit, I'm seeing the merit in Doctor McCoy's approach," she says, and Jim is unsurprised when he feels the hypospray pinch his neck.

He wakes up in sickbay, although there are a lot more people present than he would've anticipated.

"Good morning," says Winona, smiling down at him from her chair next to his bed.

"What part of 'try to take care of yourself' was beyond your comprehension?" demands Bones, standing above him with a hypospray.

"Uncle Jim!" says Joanna happily, throwing herself across his chest. Bones, luckily, extracts her quickly, and carries her out of sickbay.

"What happened?" Jim asks Winona muzzily. "The server – did we - ?"

"You did," Winona confirms. "Christopher used his override code to put the Enterprise back into orbit. Doctor McCoy insisted on returning to the ship and treating you himself when he found out."

Jim looks down at his stomach. "I reopened it?" he asks grimly.

"Oh, yes," says Winona. "And apparently broke a promise to Doctor McCoy. He wasn't very happy. Although I gather that Joanna is ecstatic about getting to be in space, and in all fairness, it's more like 'a Jallidarian's foot reopened it' than you, strictly speaking."

"Joanna's a good kid," mumbles Jim, his eyes slipping closed.

"Oh no you don't, you bastard," says Bones, a few seconds later, thwapping him on the leg. "Wake up. How do you feel?"

"Like shit," says Jim, opening his eyes again. "And hey, I'm a little stabbed, here. Can't I at least take a nap?"

"No," says Bones curtly. "You said you weren't going to rip yourself open again."

"There were exigent circumstances." Jim frowns. "Jallidarian exigent circumstances?"

"They were," Winona confirms. "Apparently, the isolationists you escaped from on the planet got worried about their...reputation. So a bunch of them came after the Enterprise in a shuttle to, if not finish the job, then to make it look as though the job had been finished."

Jim blinks heavily. "So you're saying," he says, "that all of this was the work of _perfectionists_?"

"I'd say 'completionists' is probably more accurate," says Winona, "but yes. The reason they came after you is because you were, quite literally, the one that got away."

"Everybody wants me," says Jim. "It's just part of my allure."

Winona looks up at Bones. "Is this what you meant by 'powerful painkillers'?" she asks him.

"No," says Bones. "He's always like this."

"No," says Jim indignantly. "You gave me the fuzzy drugs!"

"Maybe a little bit is the painkillers," Bones allows, before turning back to Jim. "As soon as you're in your right mind, we're going to have a talk about what and what not to do while recovering from stab wounds. Again."

Jim turns to Winona, and confides, "He does this every time."

"Apparently you need it," says Winona, looking amused and resettling herself in her chair.

"I don't know why I bother," says Bones, throwing his hands up in the air as he leaves.

Winona smiles down at Jim. "Go to sleep," she tells him. "I'll be here when you wake up."

He looks at her for a long moment. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she says, smoothing down his blanket.

Jim lets his eyes close, then opens them again suddenly. "Rao?" he demands.

"She's going to be fine," says Winona, pointing to one of the beds behind her with her thumb. "They broke her neck, but not too badly."

Jim blinks again. "I didn't realize that a broken neck was one of those things that had degrees of badness."

"Well, you learn something new every day." Winona covers his hand with hers, and squeezes it lightly. "Now go to sleep."

He's considerably more coherent the next time he wakes up, and Winona is, indeed, still there – albeit asleep. Admiral Pike is sitting next to her, though, reading a PADD, although he puts it down when he sees that Jim is awake.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he says, smiling faintly. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, sir," says Jim. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-hundred hours," says Pike. "Over twenty-four hours since your tussle with the Jallidarians. Who, I might add, have given full confessions. Apparently, the backup to their backup plan was to martyr themselves. They were quite disappointed to hear that the Federation prefers incarceration – somehow living in a Federation penal colony was not quite what they had in mind."

"And the crew?" asks Jim. "Any casualties?"

"Just a few scrapes and broken bones, with the exceptions of you and Ensign Rao," says Pike. "And apparently, even the two of you will be out of sickbay in time for the Winter Reception."

Jim grins. "So Bones won't have any patients to get him out of it? Speaking of which – where is he?"

"I believe he's having lunch with his daughter," says Pike. "She's very good at getting him out of sickbay."

"I can imagine," says Jim, glancing over at Rao. She's sleeping, her neck in a brace, in a bed on the other side of sickbay. "She did well," he says, nodding at her.

"She doesn't think so," says Pike, looking over at her too. "I'm glad she got the experience, though. Too many cadets or ensigns get a certain image of what being in a combat situation is like. Personally, I think she should be promoted for retaining full control of her bladder. I have a hundred stories of lieutenants who couldn't have managed _that_."

"No offense, Admiral, but I still think she's wasted on a desk job."

"I think I'm beginning to agree," says Pike, before looking back at Jim. "You did good, too, Captain."

Jim shrugs, not meeting his eyes. "I let them get to me," he says. "They had me buying what they were selling just as much as anyone else, and I should've known better."

"And you beat them anyway," Pike reminds him, before checking his chrono and grimacing. "Well, I have a meeting about a mistletoe emergency that I don't think I can put off any longer, and since you're awake, I don't have to feel bad about leaving your mother alone."

People come and go for the rest of the evening and the next day – Winona leaves eventually at Jim's insistence, to shower and sleep in an actual bed. Bones is in and out with Joanna, who at least keeps him from using his typical vocabulary when lecturing Jim about how to take care of himself after being stabbed. Even Gaila stops by, to continue her inventory, and informs him that Spock is still planetside.

"When he heard what happened, he wanted to come back aboard," she says. "But everything was over by then, and since Pike's onboard and outranks...well, pretty much everyone, there wasn't a need for an Acting Captain. He was very disappointed about that."

"Hah," mutters Jim, keeping his smile to himself.

Rao wakes up around dinnertime, but Jim waits until Nurse Chapel is done fussing over her before he talks to her.

"You doing okay, Ensign?" he calls.

Rao gives a stilted movement that Jim guesses is an attempt at a nod. "I'm fine, sir," she says, sounding mostly cheerful. "Doctor McCoy says I'll be out of here in another day or so."

"Did they really break your neck?" Jim asks, wincing in sympathy.

"Fractured," Rao corrects him. "And it's not the first time it's happened. Semifinals my junior year, some bi - " she glances over at him and abruptly changes her word choice as he wonders how many painkillers she's on – "fellow athlete from Alpha Centauri fouled me and broke my arm. I had to take exams in that brace." Her upper body moves from side to side, and Jim realizes that she's shaking her head. "But I broke her leg the next year, so it's okay."

Jim begins to laugh, then stops, grimacing. "Okay, no more being funny, and that's an order."

"Understood, sir," says Rao, smiling slightly.

"What'd you think of your first ship posting?" asks Jim, grinning in anticipation.

Rao's smile slips away. "Is it - " she asks falteringly. "Is it always like this?"

"On the Enterprise?" Jim considers. "Yeah, pretty much. Well, no, that's not fair. Sometimes it's Klingons. Or Romulans. Or Tribbles."

Rao frowns at him. "Tribbles?"

"Don't ask. The point is, yes, it is. Not on other ships, I don't think – especially not survey ships or anything like that, but if you ask me, if we're not pissing someone off, we're doing something wrong."

"That's – very counterintuitive, sir," says Rao.

"It is to the Starfleet Admiralty," Jim agrees, before sitting up a bit more to get a better look at her. "Speaking of which, and ship postings – the Enterprise ships out in another two weeks. How would you like to be on her?"

Rao looks like nothing so much as a deer in the headlights. "I'm – I'm honored, sir," she stutters, "but Admiral Pike said not to poach his - "

"I can talk to Admiral Pike," says Jim.

" - I only graduated a year ago," Rao continues desperately. "And I think he likes having me as his assistant."

Jim narrows his eyes at her. "That was weak, Ensign."

"I know, sir," says Rao meekly.

"You can say no, you know."

"Not really, sir." Jim opens his mouth to protest, and Rao just does the strange, braced half-shrug again. "It's true. When someone officially turns down an offer to serve on the Federation's flagship, other captains start to wonder why." She pauses for a moment, and then adds, "I don't mean to offend you, sir, but it seems like serving on the Enterprise takes a particular brand of crazy, and I just don't think I have it."

Jim looks at Rao, her neck broken from having rushed eight known-to-be-dangerous alien threats armed with only a phaser and lacrosse experience, and feels his mouth twitch. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"I should've known it would happen," Rao adds. "On this ship, anything's possible. Did you know, sir, that you're the only ship in the whole fleet to have issued a commendation for Bravery In The Face of Large Reptiles?"

"Oh, I believe it," says Jim. "That's part of why I think none of the other ships are doing their jobs. Either that, or severely underappreciating their crews." He looks at her again, and shrugs. "Well, Ensign, should you change your mind, our shuttle bay doors are always open."

"Duly noted, sir," says Rao. "Permission to go to sleep, sir?"

"Now you're just being snarky."

Two days later, Bones finally lets Jim leave sickbay, sending him back to his quarters with another warning to take care of himself and the ever-present threat of enforced sedation. Jim tries to sleep at first, despite the fact that it's barely fifteen-hundred hours, but despite the painkillers he can't. Eventually he gives up, crossing to his computer console.

"Computer," he says. "Locate Commander Kirk."

"Commander Kirk is in her guest quarters," says the computer. Jim doesn't bother thanking it this time, just heads straight there.

The door opens for him pretty much immediately, so Jim assumes that means she's awake – and she is, sitting on one of the couches and reading her PADD. She looks up as Jim enters, and smiles.

"I didn't realize Doctor McCoy had let you out of sickbay," she teases.

"Apparently, when I actually do what he tells me to, he lets me out sooner," says Jim, shrugging. "I'll have to keep that in mind for next time."

"Or," says Winona, "you could just try _not_ getting stabbed."

"I don't know," says Jim dubiously, sitting down in a chair across from her. "That seems a bit radical."

Winona's mouth twitches. "I suppose for your style of captaincy it is," she agrees. "What brings you here directly from Doctor McCoy's tender mercies?"

"I was, uh," says Jim, grimacing a little. "I was hoping we could talk."

Winona looks surprised. "Oh? What about?"

"About Jallidar," he admits.

Winona's eyes widen, but she resettles herself attentively. "Okay," she says cautiously.

Jim looks down at his hands for a moment, unsure of where to begin. Then he decides to just start talking, because otherwise he never will.

"They mostly used drugs," he says. "That's what the three days in sickbay were really for – just getting them all out of my system. There were lots of them, apparently, which is why it took so long. They had it down to a science – hell, they've probably been brainwashing aliens longer than I've been in Starfleet. They caught us as we were coming out of the shuttle, about to make the preliminary greetings, and knocked us all out – me, Spock, and Bones. We woke up in a cell. Spock and Bones were chained to one of the walls, but I wasn't – we couldn't figure out why at first, although I guess now that it was just to throw us off. Besides, they'd already started drugging me - I wasn't much of a threat. They took me out of the cell every now and then, about six or seven times total, I guess, for interrogation and to administer more drugs - I don't remember much about that." He looks at Winona. "Did the Jallidarians say where they got the access codes? I kept meaning to ask."

Winona keeps her expression level, but barely. "From you."

"I thought so," says Jim, before continuing. "That wasn't what they were after, though. They just wanted to drive me as crazy as they could. The interrogations were bad enough, I guess, but just sticking me in that cell with Spock and Bones, drugged and paranoid – that was what did it. I started doubting everything. Why the hell were Spock and Bones tied up, while I was left free? Why weren't they getting drugged or interrogated, too? Every time the Jallidarian guards came in, they ignored the two of them – which must have taken some training, because Bones cursed them out every time and Spock just sat there looking really menacing, but he's really good at that. It turns out they were drugged, too, just a little – which explains a few things. The whole time they were just acting... _off_ , just a little bit, like they were being impersonated by really, really good actors but still weren't quite _them_. Or at least, I thought so. Towards the end, things got worse – colors started looking wrong, too, and I could've sworn that Spock had a red bruise. That's when I started getting really paranoid – and when I found the knife."

He clears his throat. "It must've been there for a while, or maybe they planted it sometime – they would've had to do it without Bones or Spock noticing, because they were pretty damn surprised to see it. From what we gathered afterwards, the plan was to make sure that I was really, truly, homicidally crazy before sending me back up to the Enterprise." He pauses. "By now, I was completely out of it. Convinced that Spock and Bones weren't real – or maybe Jallidarians, trying to get more information out of me – or maybe just figments of my imagination. I wasn't completely clear on that. I _did_ know that it was pissing me off pretty royally, and Spock was just being all logical and Bones was being Bones but it just felt _wrong_ \- and then I found the knife."

He pauses again. "They were shackled to the wall. I was free and really angry. There was no way they could've fought me off, but they kept trying to talk me out of it, to convince me they were real, but that just made me angrier. Spock in particular kept trying to get me to give him the knife – he said he could use it for leverage and rip the chains out of the wall, which is what he did, later. Bones just kept saying my name before every sentence, like he was trying to talk me off a ledge, which I guess he was, kind of. The more they argued the angrier I got, but I guess some of what they said got through, because I remember thinking that if there was even the slightest chance they were right, I couldn't risk them – not any members of my crew, but especially not _them_. And then I thought – this is all a dream. And you can't die in a dream, you just wake up." He looks up at his mother, and smiles bitterly. "It made sense at the time, I swear."

"You stabbed yourself," says Winona quietly.

Jim nods. "Yeah. Surprised the hell out of me, too. I expected to wake up in sickbay the second the knife hit skin, and instead it just hurt like a bitch. I fell close enough to Spock that he could pull the knife out, and he broke out and broke Bones out, so at least I didn't bleed to death like I probably would have otherwise. Everything's fuzzy after that – Bones said I lost a lot of blood, and I'm not surprised. He also said it was another three hours before we were rescued by Sulu's team."

Winona shudders.

"The worst part was – there were no voices. Nobody inside my head telling me to kill them. I could tell something was wrong the whole time, obviously, but I thought it was everything _else_. It never occurred to me that it was me that was the problem. And when they attacked again, once they planted just that little seed of doubt, it never occurred to me that I _wasn't_ the problem. They got to me, both times - I was just as compromised this mission as I was last time."

Winona shakes her head. "No, you weren't," she says.

"I was," Jim insists. "They changed how I thought - "

"You weren't compromised either time," says Winona, cutting him off. "They tried to turn you against your crew, and you beat them. Through unorthodox and probably masochistic means, sure, but you still beat them. And then when they came back for you to try again, you _beat the fuckers again_."

Jim feels his eyebrows raise, apparently of their own accord. "Did you just say - ?"

"The point is," says Winona loudly, "you won. And that's all that matters."

"But if I hadn't won?"

"That's a pointless rhetorical exercise, and you know it," says Winona, before standing up and crossing to him. "I am so, _so_ proud of you. I don't say it enough, but I am." She pulls him into a hug, and he doesn't resist.

They talk almost all night, about everything and nothing – how Sam is, how the Eddington is, how the Enterprise is, how ridiculous the bunting is. It's not something Jim's used to, but it's nice enough that he thinks it might be something he'll be able to learn.

The bunting, as it turns out, is red, green, and white, covering almost every available inch of wall space. The Winter Reception is held in one of the larger recreation rooms, which is usually used for diplomatic purposes when the need arises. Jim arrives on the early side, escorting his mother; he's wearing his dress uniform, uncomfortable though it is, and she's wearing a similar one, albeit in a considerably more attractive shade of blue than his own chartreuse.

Bones is already there, standing uncomfortably by the fruit-and-vegetable platters as Joanna stuffs her face. Jim smothers a grin, and leads Winona over.

"You look like you're having fun," he says.

"I hate you," says Bones passionately. "Why did you agree to host this damn thing?"

"Oh, maybe because _someone_ kept bitching at me to try to get leave in December, and this was the only way to do it?" says Jim. "Besides, Jo seems to be enjoying herself."

Jo, hearing her name, looks up from using two chunks of pineapple on toothpicks as toys. They appear to be jousting one another. She grins.

"Uncle Jim! Dad said you ripped yourself open."

Jim shakes his head. "No, the aliens did that, sweetie."

"Yeah, he just helped," mutters Bones. "God, I wish there were Scotch at this thing."

"Sounds like my idea of Christmas spirit," Jim agrees sotto voce.

Winona grins, then straightens, touching Jim's arm. "It looks like Christopher's here," she says. "I'll be back - I want to hear the story of how he strongarmed the decorators into going to Christmas colors after all."

Jim nods, and watches her cross the room as he pours himself a glass of punch.

"Your mother's quite the woman," says Bones.

"Yeah," says Jim. "I guess she is."

"Captain!" Jim turns around to see Sulu, crossing towards him and grinning. "I heard there was some excitement while we were on leave."

"Not that exciting," Jim disagrees. "Jallidarians again. Getting kind of old, actually."

"I'm sorry I missed it," says Sulu sincerely. "It sounded like fun."

"Eh, not really," says Jim. "Although it did make me think of requiring zero-gee training for all personnel."

"Now _that_ sounds like fun," says Sulu, grinning again.

"Hikaru!" Chekov comes up behind him, slapping him on the shoulder before noticing Jim. "Captain! I did not think you would be out of sickbay already, sir."

"I'm perfectly fine, thanks," says Jim. "And I didn't want to give Bones an excuse to miss all the fun, right, Bones?"

Bones scowls at him.

"I'm glad you're better, sir," says Chekov earnestly, as Ensign Rao catches up to him. Her neckbrace is nowhere to be seen, although she's holding herself stiffly.

"Captain," she says respectfully. "Doctor McCoy." She looks down at Joanna, and her polite smile becomes a full-fledged grin. "Hey, Jo."

"Sara!" says Jo happily. "Have you tried the pineapple?"

"Sara, this is Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu," says Chekov, drawing her attention back to him. "Hikaru, this is Ensign Sara Rao."

"Oh, you must be the one who bum-rushed the Jallidarians," says Sulu, eyes twinkling. "Pavel won't shut up about you. Your neck looks okay, though."

"It was nothing," demurs Rao, although she looks pleased.

"Spock's here," says Bones quietly in Jim's ear. Jim looks where Bones is indicating, and sees Spock surrounded by all four Uhura sisters, in variously colored dress uniforms – each Starfleet discipline has a current record set by an Uhura. Spock himself looks calm, controlled, and perfectly poised, and Jim is impressed at how well he's keeping up.

"He survived," Jim notes, sipping his punch. Like the punch served at all official Starfleet occasions, it's excessively sweet and entirely nonalcoholic. Jim makes a face.

"Yes, he did," says Bones. "You owe me a bottle of Romulan ale."

"What? When did we make _that_ bet?"

"Two days before he left," says Bones.

Jim narrows his eyes at him. "Two days before Spock left, I'm pretty sure I was still bedridden."

"You insisted."

"And sedated."

"A bet's a bet," says Bones, shrugging.

"Fine," says Jim, deciding not to mention that a bottle of Romulan ale was going to be his Christmas present anyway.

"Dad!" Joanna tugs on Bones's sleeve. "Did you hear? Sara's going on a ship too!"

Jim raises his eyebrows, but Bones just smirks. Rao ducks her head.

"I was reassigned to the Eddington," she says. "Science division."

Jim's jaw does _not_ drop. Not visibly, anyway. " _What_?"

"I just heard yesterday," says Rao, just about glowing with happiness. "We ship out in a week. That reminds me - " She looks around. "I should go see Admiral Pike." She turns back to Jim and Bones, nodding to each of them. "Captain. Doctor. Later, Jo."

Sulu and Chekov trail after her to where Pike is deep in conversation with Winona, although apparently nothing serious – Winona says something, leaning in to touch Pike's arm lightly, and he throws his head back and laughs.

"I can't believe," mutters Jim darkly, "that now I have to worry about my own mother poaching personnel from me."

"I'm pretty sure she was never actually yours," says Bones, although he sounds amused. "Besides, look at how they're talking. Your mother's got him wrapped around her little finger."

"You'd think an Admiral would be strong enough to hold out," says Jim, before taking a sip of punch as petulantly as he can.

"Careful," says Bones. "That could be your future stepfather you're talking about."

Jim chokes.

He's still sputtering in a mixture of indignation and asphyxiation when Spock finally comes over to join them.

"Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy," he says, inclining his head. Jim's suddenly deeply reminded of Rao – the same careful attention to protocol. Spock pulls it off better, though.

"Have fun on leave?" asks Jim, trying for innocent but mainly getting hoarse.

"Indeed," says Spock. "Nyota's sisters are very intelligent. I found the conversations very stimulating."

"Exhausting?" translates Jim.

"Quite," says Spock. "I understand things were considerably less intellectual here onboard?"

"Knocked in a few heads," Jim agrees. "Saved the ship. The usual. Oh – have you seen Scotty?"

"We were aboard the same shuttle from spacedock," says Spock. "Last I saw him, he was by the helm. Weeping. I don't suppose alien intruders can be blamed for that particular mess?"

"Nope," says Bones cheerfully. "Just Jim's mom."

"I met her earlier," adds Spock. "She seems to be quite a capable officer. I expressed surprise to her that she would have a son such as yourself," he says, indicating Jim, "and she laughed."

"She probably thought you were joking," says Jim. "Or she agreed. One or the other."

There's a band playing now, on the far end of the room – a Christmas carol, from the sound of it, although Jim thinks he can hear some nautical terminology.

"I had best return to Nyota," says Spock, sounding actually a little sorry. "I'm – pleased to see that you're recovering well, Jim."

Jim raises his eyebrows, but Spock seems sincere, so he decides to go for a little honesty himself. "I'm glad you're back on the ship," he says, but before the mood can get too serious he adds, "If only because I really need someone to delegate all the paperwork to."

Spock looks almost aggrieved, before brightening almost imperceptibly. "Of course, Captain," he says. "Although I must remind you, my leave doesn't expire until tomorrow. If you'll excuse me."

Bones shakes his head after Spock as he heads back to Uhura. "He almost sounded like he meant it, too," he says. "I'll never understand him."

"He's not that bad," says Jim, but Joanna interrupts him.

"Dad! Mom's here!"

Bones sees Jim's look, and shrugs. "I could hardly stay with her for free for a week without inviting her, now could I?" he asks. "Come on, Jo, let's go show your mom the ship."

"Have fun," Jim calls after him. "And steer clear of the bridge if you don't want to get an earful from Scotty!"

Bones waves impatiently at him over his shoulder as he takes his daughter to see his wife, and Jim lets himself drift towards one of the back corners of the room. The band's still playing, and a few people are even dancing. From his vantage point, Jim can see Sulu and Chekov talking to Rao – or rather, listening to Rao, who, judging from the hand motions, seems to be recounting her brave and single-handed takedown of all twenty Jallidarians. Chekov, who should really know better even if he's not contradicting her, is listening with rapt attention, and Sulu seems just as absorbed.

On the other side of the room, Spock is surrounded by all the Uhura sisters. The three of them that Jim doesn't know, though, seem to be talking amongst themselves, while Lieutenant Uhura – Nyota – is talking quietly to Spock. He says something to her, and she smiles, laying a hand against his cheek. Spock, very gently, cups it and holds it there, before they both drop their hands.

Some distance away, Winona and Pike are talking. Jim can't tell what the topic of conversation is, but he can see the enthusiasm in Winona's own gestures and the clear joy in Pike's eyes as he nods encouragement to her. Just behind them, Bones, Jo, and a woman – who must be Joss, by process of elimination – are standing at the windows. Joanna is tugging on Joss's shirt, trying to get her closer to the glass, while Bones is watching the two of them fondly.

Not bad, for a Christmas party, Jim thinks. Except for all the people who aren't his crew and don't belong on his ship.

Jim downs the rest of his punch in one gulp, and puts the glass on the edge of the refreshments table. He successfully makes it through the room without running into anyone who might try to pull him into a conversation, and he figures he can cite having come down with a bad case of recurring stab wound to anyone who bitches at him for ducking out early.

The door, though, is another story; he quite literally bumps into Scotty on his way out.

"Sorry, sorry – sorry, Captain," says Scotty, grabbing one arm to make sure Jim doesn't fall over.

"It's fine," says Jim tightly, having learned that Scotty's elbow is exactly even with Jim's scar. "Good to see you, Scotty."

"Good to see you too, Captain," says Scotty, beaming. "I don't suppose you know who jerry-rigged the secondary power supply to the helm console, do you? It's brilliant! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. I think I can rustle up a subroutine to do it automatically even in cases of - "

"That would be my mother, right over there," says Jim, pointing. "She's the Science Officer for the Eddington – knock yourself out. I think you'll have a lot to talk about." He pats Scotty on the shoulder and brushes past him, trying not to think malicious thoughts about Pike's chances of becoming his stepdad with Scotty talking nonstop at his mother.

At first he walks without any particular location in mind, just letting his feet take him where they will. The music from the reception fades quickly, drowned out by the familiar hum of the ship. There's something comforting about just wandering, but eventually he comes to a turbolift and has to make a decision, although it's not a hard one.

Just as he'd expected, there's nobody in the Observation Deck. The Earth hangs gibbous in the middle of the observation windows against the backdrop of the Milky Way, close enough that Jim can make out the continents, and the sparks of light on the night side of the terminator that mark cities. The sun's setting over San Francisco, he realizes; if he looks closely, he can see the clouds tinged pink and orange.

He stays there for a while, watching the sunset slide across the Pacific, then turning his attention to the stars beyond it. There are a lot of them, and he's no stellar cartographer, but he amuses himself for a while trying to guess which ones he's been to.

 _Impossible to give up_ , he thinks to himself. Sounds about right.

He loses track of time again, but eventually he hears the door behind him slide open. He doesn't turn around, but Bones comes to stand at his left, leaning against the railing.

"Where's Jo?" asks Jim.

Bones makes a face. "With Joss, asking Admiral Pike why her daddy's not a good enough doctor to cure paraplegia. Precocious is one thing, but professional criticism from a nine-year-old is another."

Jim tries not to smirk. "She's precocious as hell," he agrees instead.

"She says she wants to join Starfleet," says Bones. "I figure she's got plenty of time to come to her senses."

Jim does laugh at that. "Good luck with that," he says.

"Yeah," says Bones, a bit more pensively. He stares out at the Earth. "Hell of a thing."

"Yeah," Jim agrees quietly, before looking down at his hands. "Sorry I was an ass," he says.

"Apology accepted," says Bones promptly.

Jim frowns. "You were supposed to say, 'no, Jim, don't worry about it, you weren't an ass at all.'"

"I'm a horrible liar. You'd see right through me," says Bones, and Jim chuckles. "Although to be fair," Bones continues, "you're a lot less of an ass these days than when you were a cadet."

"Thanks, I think," says Jim, still smiling.

"How're things with your mom?" asks Bones seriously. "You okay?"

Jim thinks for a minute. "Yeah," he says eventually. "We talked for a while when I got out of sickbay."

"About Jallidar?"

"About a lot of things, including Jallidar." Jim touches his stomach, very briefly. "And I think I've decided...it could've been worse."

"What a revelation," says Bones dryly, but he doesn't say anything else for a while, just stands with Jim watching the Earth go by.

After a few minutes, the door slides open again, and this time Spock enters.

"Get tired of the Uhura sisters?" asks Bones.

"Actually, I was sent to ensure that the Captain hadn't, I quote, 'torn himself open again,'" says Spock, standing on Jim's right. "Admiral Pike appeared quite concerned."

"Oh, I bet," says Jim.

"I have also been informed that the Federation trial for the Jallidarians that boarded the Enterprise has been set," Spock adds. "Admiral Pike suggested that we delay our departure to attend."

"Nah," says Jim. "We've wasted enough time on the Jallidarians. Let the Admiralty worry about them."

Jim can see Spock raise an eyebrow in his peripheral vision. "I would have thought you might desire emotional closure, after the events of the past two weeks," he says.

"I think I got enough closure kicking their asses," says Jim, keeping his eyes on the stars. "Besides, there's got to be something more important for us to do than stick around here. Places to go, people to see, that sort of thing."

"Indeed," says Spock, sounding pleased. "I will inform Admiral Pike of your decision."

He still makes no move to leave, and eventually Jim says, "Thanks."

Bones glances over at him. "For what?"

"For everything," says Jim simply.

"I find that to be insufficient," says Spock. "You have earned our loyalty, respect, and even friendship a hundred times over, and it is illogical to give thanks for what has been duly earned."

"What the Vulcan means," says Bones, "is 'you're welcome.'"

Spock doesn't disagree.

"Moon's rising," Jim observes after a moment. It's true; the muted crescent of the dark side of the moon, illuminated by earthshine, is just visible on the outer limb of the night-side of the Earth.

"It is indeed," Spock agrees.

"Not a half-bad view," says Bones, and together they watch the moon rise.


End file.
